
HE SOUTH 

IN 

PROSE AND POETRY 




t^ntmam^^i^ti 



^.^^tttt^ttamm^^mtmrnmauitiam 



Class 
Book 




r^ S^l 



CopyiiglitlS^^, 



COHfRIGHT DEPOSm 




c^ ^^i 77W s/ /''^u<^7'y*^ 



THE SOUTH 



IN 



PROSE AND POETRY 



Compiled and Edited by 

HENRY M. GILL, A. B., L L B. 

Librarian New Orleans Public Library 




New Orleans 
F. F. HANSELL & BRO.. Ltd. 



^v^ 

^ ^ 



Copyright, 1916 

By 

F. F. Hansen & Bro., Ltd. 

New Orleans 




)Ci,A428283 



PREFACE. 

For a long time the literature of the South was 
neglected, or, perhaps, it is nearer the truth to say 
that it was ignored. Thomas Nelson Page, in a 
speech some years ago, stated that the rest of the 
world looked upon the South as a section of the 
United States without a literature, and the Ency- 
clopaedia Britannica, an authority throughout the 
world, published an arraignment far more scath- 
ing than this. We of the South have no one to 
blame for this condition of affairs but ourselves. 
It is only natural that, if we did not seem to place 
a proper value upon our own writers, no other 
section was going to herald their fame except 
where the overwhelming force of genius com- 
pelled it. 

We can but take the form of the mold in which 
we are cast. Our range of vision is limited by 
our horizon, and unless that horizon is lifted our 
field of vision will always remain the same. To 
those whose knowledge of American literature has 
been acquired merely from text-books written by 
men who have given scant space to the authors of 
the South, it is, in spite of its truth, an astonish- 
ing fact that Simms ranks only second to Haw- 
thorne; that Poe surpasses all the other of our 
poets ; that Calhoun was our most profound logi- 
cian, and Maury the greatest American scientist 
of his day. 

There has, in recent years, however, begun a 
strong movement to rescue our literature from 



iv PREFACE. 

oblivion and give it its proper place among the 
written records of our nation's intellectual growth. 
A number of sound critical works have been writ- 
ten and many excellent compilations made. My 
excuse for adding to this latter class of books is 
that I have tried to make mine one that would be 
especially pleasing to the youth of the South. I 
have sought, in selecting the article of each writer, 
to give preference to simplicity and the element of 
interest rather than to present those passages 
that best represent the author's genius or his 
most finished literary style, though I admit in a 
few instances I have not adhered to this policy. 
I have endeavored to include every class and form 
of writing that would be of interest to student and 
teacher, and, as far as I could, to choose a lesser 
known selection to one that would be tiresome 
through its familiarity. I have striven at all times 
to bear in mind that it was a reader that I was 
compiling. 

I hope that this book will be received in the 
spirit in which it is written; that it will aid, at 
least, a little in fostering among the girls and boys 
of the South a greater love and respect for their 
section of the country without in any manner 
lessening in their hearts the ardent affection and 
earnest patriotism that their fathers have ever 
felt for the Union, and, above all, I hope that there 
may be found in it a spark of inspiration that will 
kindle in the minds of some of its young readers 
the noble desire to devote themselves to the pres- 
ervation of the literature and the history of the 
South. 



CONTENTS. 



Page 
CHARLES GAYAKRE. 

The Founding of New Orleans 1 

The Expedition of St. Denis to Mexico . . . 5 

MRS. ELIZA J. NICHOLSON. 

Only a Dog 19 

Myself 22 

MRS. MOLLIE MOORE DAVIS. 

A Crevasse . 27 

WILLIAM B. TRAVIS. 

A Letter from the Alamo 40 

JAMES T. SMITH. 

The Mother's Song 42 

Poet's Thoughts 44 

ALEXANDER WALKER. 

Lafitte "the Pirate" 46 

MARY ASHLEY TOWNSEND. 

Down the Bayou . 61 

WILLIAM WIRT. 

Mr. Henry Against John Hook 67 

EDWARD C. PINKNEY. 

A Health 70 

A Song 71 

THOMAS J. GREEN. 

Texas Patriots Prisoners in Mexico . . . . 72 

CHARLES J. COLTON. 

To My Baby Boy 82 

A Kitchen Free-for-all 84 

SUSAN B. ELDER. 

A Statue Due Sieur de Bienville .... 86 



vi CONTENTS. 

Page 
MRS. ELIZA J. NICHOLSON. 

Lady April 92 

ALCfiE FORTIER. 

Historic New Orleans 94 

ST. GEORGE TUCKER. 

Resignation 102 

JOHN P. KENNEDY. 

What One Boy Did to Win Our Country's Freedom 104 

ADRIEN ROUQUETTE. 

The Wild Lily and the Passion Flower . . . 116 
To Nature, My Mother 118 

JAMES D. B. DE BOW. 

The Mississippi 119 

FRANCIS O. TICKNOR. 

Little Giffen 122 

Loyal 124 

GEORGE WASHINGTON. 

Rule of Civility 126 

A Surveying Expedition 128 

THOMAS H. BENTON. 

The Visit of Lafayette to the United States . . 131 

WILLIAM H. HOLCOMBE. 

The Streamlet's Warning 138 

The Desecrated Chapel 140 

HENRY CLAY. * 

Address to Lafayette 142 

MISS GRACE KING. 

A Drama of Three . . . . . . . 145 

MADISON J. CAWEIN. 

Rain and Wind . . . . . . . . 154 

Wood-words 156 

EDGAR ALLAN POE. 

The Pit and the Pendulum 157 

Eldorado 179 

Eulalie 180 

Evening Star 181 



CONTENTS. vii 

Page 
PATRICK HENRY. 

Speech on the Return of the British Refugees . 182 

PHILIP P. COOKE. 

Florence Vane 186 

GEORGE W. CABLE. 

Louisiana in the War of 1812 . . . . . 188 

HENRY R. JACKSON. 

The Red Old Hills of Georgia 198 

My Wife and Child 200 

JOHN J. AUDUBON. 

The Mallard Duck 202 

ALBERT PIKE. 

Christmas 210 

MRS. OCTAVIA W. LE VERT. 

The Simplon 214 

HENRY TIMROD. 

The Lily Confidante 220 

Hark to the Shouting Wind 223 

JOEL CHANDLER HARRIS. 

The Knights of the White Camellia ... 224 

EMMANUEL C. DE LAMONIERE. 

Address on the One Hundredth Anniversary of 

the Battle of New Orleans 231 

MRS. DANSKE DANDRIDGE. 

The Spirit and the Wood Sparrow .... 239 

MATTHEW F. MAURY. 

Free Navigation of the Amazon .... 241 
The Gulf Stream 245 

JAMES M. LAGARE. 

Haw-Blossoms 247 

HENRY RIGHTOR. 

The Carnival of New Orleans 250 

PIENRY WATTERSON. 

The Fate of the Uncompromising .... 257 



viii CONTENTS, 

Page 
CHARLES J. COLTON. 

The Bachelor's Dream 263 

Domestic Amenities 264 

The Land of Nod 265. 

JAMES G. McG. RAMSEY. 

Nic-a-jack Cave and the Narrows .... 266 

RICHARD rf: WILDE. 

My Life Is Like the Summer Rose . . . 271 

WILLIAM G. SIMMS. 

The Battle of Eutaw . 272 

LAFACADIO HEARN. 

Lost Kites 282 

SAMUEL H. DICKSON. 

The Southern Exile 285 

FRANCOIS-XAVIER MARTIN. 

The Cessions of Louisiana 287 

MIRABEAU B. LAMAR. 

The Daughter of Mendoza 293 

HENRY W. GRADY. 

The New South . 295 

T4RS. MARY ASHLEY TOWNSEND. 

Sonnets 303 

FRANCIS L. HAWKS. 

Colonial Piracy . 305 

THOMAS W. COLLENS. 

The Martyr Patriots 309 

THOMAS JEFFERSON. 

Scenery at Harper's Ferry and Natural Bridge . 313 

WILLIAM G. SIMMS. 

The Swamp Fox 317 

SAM HOUSTON. 

The Battle of San Jacinto 324 

JOHN J. AUDUBON. 

The Wildcat . 325 



CONTENTS. ix 

Page 
HENRY L. FLASH. 

What the Cricket Sang . . . . . .335 

The Legion of Honor ....... 337 

WILLIAM WIRT. 

A Country Boy's First Trial 339 

GEORGE WASHINGTON. 

Extract from Farewell Address .... 342 

MADISON J. CAWEIN. 

Heart's Encouragement 344 

Rest 345 

RAPHAEL SEMMES. 

Last Fight of the Alabama 346 

SAMUEL H. DICKSON. 

Song 354 

JEFFERSON DAVIS. 

Speech on Leaving the Senate . . . . 355 

ABRAM J. RYAN. 

In Memoriam 359 

A Thought 364 

JUDAH P. BENJAMIN. 

Speech on Leaving the Senate .... 365 

JAMES M. LEGARE. 

Ahab Mohammed , . . . . . . . 368 

ALEXANDER B. MEEK. 

The Canoe Fight 370 

HENRY TIMROD. 

Carolina 382 

A Cry to Arms 385 

ROBERT Y. HAYNE. 

Loyalty of South Carolina and the South . . 387 

NORMAN McF. WALKER. 

Geographical Nomenclature of Louisiana . . 393 

MRS. JULIA K. BAKER. 

The Little Light 402 

Bartering With Time . . . . . . . 403 



X CONTENTS. 

Page 
MRS. MARTHA M. GILL. 

Education and Crime 404 

MRS. DANSKE DANDRIDGE. 

As You Went Down the Road 407 

Silence 408 

JOHN C. CALHOUN. 

Speech on the Internal Improvement Bill . . 409 

ALEXANDER B. MEEK. 

Land of the South .412 

ROBERT E. LEE. 

Last Order -^14 

Letter After the Surrender 415 

FRANCIS O. TICKNOR. 

Virginians of the Valley 418 

Virginia , 419 

BENJAMIN M. PALMER. 

Memorial Address on Lee 421 



CHARLES GAYARRE. 

Charles £:tienne Arthur Gayarre was born in New 
Orleans, January 9, 1805, and died there February 11, 
1895. He was educated at the College of Orleans, studied 
law in Philadelphia, but soon returned from the practice 
of law there to be admitted to the bar of his native city. 

He was chosen to fill many positions of public trust and 
honor; he was State Representative, Judge, Secretary of 
State and was elected to the United States Senate, though 
ill health prevented him from taking his seat. 

He spent a number of years in Europe busily collect- 
ing historical material and studying historical methods. 

He did much to improve the State Library and to pro- 
mote the interests of the Louisiana Historical Society. His 
close study of original historical material and a delicate 
appreciation of the poetic, beautiful and romantic in life 
combined to produce an almost distinct type of history. 
His refinement of taste and polished style have had a 
strong influence on the literature of his State and of the 
entire South. 

His chief works are the History of Louisiana; Philip II 
of Spain, and Fernando de Lemos. 



THE FOUNDING OF NEW ORLEANS. 

FROM 

HISTORY OF LOUISIANA. 

Let us now proceed to ascertain what influ- 
ence the creation of the Mississippi company had 
on the prosperity and destinies of Louisiana, and 
to record the series of events accompanying the 
colonization of the country. 

The company, being organized, sent three ves- 
sels to Louisiana, with three companies of infan- 



2 CHARLES GAYARRe, 

try and sixty-nine colonists, who landed on the 
9th of March, 1718, and who, by their presence 
and the information they brought, revived the 
hope of better days. The office of Governor of 
Louisiana was definitively, and for the second 
time, granted to Bienville, as successor to 
L'Epinay, who exercised his powers only for a 
few months, during which he made himself very 
unpopular, by prohibiting the sale of spirituous 
liquors to the Indians. The humanity of this pro- 
vision did not seem to strike the colonists as forci- 
bly as their ruler, and failed to outweigh other con- 
siderations. They complained of the want of policy 
displayed in that ordinance, and they represented, 
no doubt with truth, that the selling of French 
brandy was the most profitable article of com- 
merce which they could command, and their most 
powerful source of influence over the Indian na- 
tions. It was, therefore, with great satisfaction, 
that the colonists learned of the nomination of 
Bienville. Besides, he had passed nineteen years 
in the colony, of which he was one of the found- 
ers ; and, familiar with all its resources and wants, 
he had endeared himself to all the inhabitants, 
every one of whom he knew personally. 

The first act of Bienville's new administration 
was an important one. It was to select the most 
favorable place on the banks of the Mississippi 
for the location of the principal establishment of 
the colony. He chose the spot where now stands 
the city of New Orleans, and he there left a de-r 
tachment of fifty men to prepare the ground and 
erect barracks or sheds. The geography of the 



THE FO UN DING OF NEW ORLEANS. 3 

country shows it to have been the most judicious 
choice, and the present importance of New Or- 
leans testifies to the sagacity of Bienville. In so 
doing, he showed not only foresight and perspi- 
cacity, but also great firmness and independence ; 
because he dared to act against the predilections 
of his government, which had a strong leaning for 
Manchac, where a natural communication was 
open with the lakes through Bayou Mancnac and 
the River Amite. 

The space now occupied by New Orleans was 
then entirely covered with one of those primitive 
forests with which we are so familiar. Owing 
to the annual inundations of the river, it was 
swampy and marshy, and cut up with a thousand 
small ravines, ruts, and pools of stagnant waters 
when the river was low. The site was not invit- 
ing to the physical eye, but Bienville looked at it 
with the mind's vision. His intellect hovered over 
the whole country, from his native valleys of 
Canada, down the Mississippi, in the footsteps 
of La Salle, through those boundless regions whose 
commercial emporium he foresaw that New Or- 
leans was destined to be. Were I a painter I 
would delight in delineating and fixing on living 
canvas the scene which my imagination con- 
jures up. 

Bienville had arrived with his sturdy com- 
panions on the preceding evening; and now the 
sun is peeping through his eastern curtains, and 
flings a glow of radiancy over the dawning beauty 
of the morning landscape. In obedience to the 
command received, fifty axes have, in concert, 
struck fifty gigantic sons of the forest. With 



4 CHARLES GAYARRE. 

folded arms and abstracted look, Bienville stands 
on the bank of the river, and seems, from the ex- 
pression of his face, to be wrapped up in the con- 
templation of some soul-stirring fancies. Per- 
haps he had glimpses of the rapid growth of the 
city of his creation, and was blessed with the re- 
vealed prospect of its future grandeur. Far aloft, 
above his head, the American eagle might have 
been observed towering with repeated gyrations, 
and uttering loud shrieks which sounded like tones 
of command. Of the Indian race only one repre- 
sentative was there. It was an old sibyl-looking 
woman, who had the wild glance of insanity or 
of divination ; and with the solemn gesticulations 
of prophetic inspiration she kept singing an un- 
couth sort of chant, in which she said that the 
time of which she had been warned by the Great 
Spirit had come at last ; that her death hour was 
approaching, which was to be on the day when 
white men were to take possession of the spot 
where she had dwelt during a hundred summers 
and winters, and when they would cut down the 
oak, under the shade of which she had indulged 
so long her solitary musings. 'The Spirit tells 
me,'' so she sang, "that the time will come when 
between the river and the lake there will be as 
many dwellings for the white man as there are 
trees standing now. The haunts of the red man 
are doomed, and faint recollections and tradi- 
tions concerning the very existence of his race will 
float dimly over the memory of his successors, 
as unsubstantial, as vague and obscure as the mist 
which shrouds, on a winter morning, the bed of 
the father of rivers." 



THE EXPEDITION OF ST. DENIS 



THE EXPEDITION OF ST. DENIS 

TO MEXICO 

FROM 

HISTORY OF LOUISIANA 

In August, 1716, a short time before the recall 
of Cadillac, there had returned to Mobile a young 
man named St. Denis, who was a relation of Bien- 
ville, and whom, two years before, Cadillac had 
sent to Natchitoches to oppose the Spaniards in 
an establishment which it was reported they in- 
tended to make in that part of the country. His 
orders were to proceed afterward to New Mexico, 
to ascertain if it would not be possible to estab- 
lish in that direction internal relations of com- 
merce between Louisiana and the Mexican prov- 
inces, where it was hoped that Crozat would find 
a large outlet for his goods. When St. Denis ar- 
rived at the village of the Natchitoches, hearing 
no tidings of the supposed expedition of the Span- 
iards, he left there a few Canadians, whom he 
ordered to form a settlement; and, accompanied 
by twelve others, who were picked men, and by a 
few Indians, he undertook to accomplish the 
more difficult part of his mission. 

St. Denis is one of the most interesting char- 
acters of the early history of Louisiana. 

He was a knight-errant in his feelings and in 
his doings throughout life, and everything con- 
nected with him, or that came within the purview 
of his existence, was imbued with the spirit of ro- 



6 CHARLES GAYARRe. 

mance. The noble bearing of his tall, well-pro- 
portioned and remarkably handsome person was 
in keeping with the lofty spirit of his soiil. He 
was one in whom nature had given the world as- 
surance of a man, and that assurance was so 
strongly marked in the countenance of St. Denis 
that wherever he appeared he instantaneously 
commanded love, respect and admiration. There 
are beings who carry in their lineaments the 
most legible evidence of their past and future 
fate. Such was St. Denis, and nobody, not even 
ithe wild and untutored Indians, could have left 
his presence without at least a vague impression 
that he had seen one not born for the common 
purposes of ordinary life. 

The laborious journey of St. Denis from Mo- 
bile to Natchitoches, the incidents connected with 
it, the description of the country he passed 
through, and of all the tribes of Indians he vis- 
ited, would furnish sufficient materials for an in- 
teresting book. But what an animated picture 
might be drawn of that little band of Canadians, 
with St. Denis and his friend Jallot, the eccentric 
surgeon, when they crossed the Sabine and en- 
tered upon the ocean-like prairies of the present 
State of Texas! How they hallooed with joy 
when they saw the immense surface which spread 
before them, blackened with herds of buffaloes, 
that wallowed lazily in the tall, luxuriant grass, 
which afforded them such luscious food and such 
downy couches for repose! For the sake of va- 
riety, the travelers would sometimes turn from 
nobler to meaner game, from the hunchbacked 
buffalo to the timid deer that crossed their path. 



THE EXPEDITION OF ST. DENIS. 7 

Sometimes they would stumble on a family of 
bears, and make at their expense a delicious re- 
past, which they enjoyed comfortably seated on 
piled-up skins, the testimonials of their hunting 
exploits. 

But these pleasures, exciting as they were, 
would perhaps have palled upon St. Denis and 
his companions, and might in the end have been 
looked upon as tame by them, by the frequency 
of their repetition, if they had not been inter- 
mingled with nobler sport, which consisted in 
oft-recurring skirmishes with the redoubtable 
Comanches, upon whose hunting-grounds they 
had intruded. On these occasions St. Denis, pro- 
tected against the arrows of the enemy by a full 
suit of armor, which he had brought from Eu- 
rope, and mounted on a small black jennet, as 
strong as an ox and as fleet as the wind, would 
rush upon the astonished Indians, and perform 
such feats with his battle-axe as those poor sav- 
ages had never dreamed of. 

St. Denis and his troop reached at last the 
Rio Bravo, at a Spanish settlement then called 
the Fort of St. John the Baptist, or Presidio del 
Norte. Don Pedro de Villescas was the com- 
mander of that place. He received the French 
with the most courteous hospitality and informed 
them that he could not make any commercial ar- 
rangements with them, but that he would sub- 
mit their propositions to a superior officer, who 
was governor of the town of Caouis, situated at 
the distance of one hundred and eighty miles in 

(2) 



8 CHARLES GAYARRE. 

the interior. Spaniards are not famous for ra- 
pidity of action. Before the message of Villescas 
was carried to Caouis, and before the expected 
answer came back to the Presidio del Norte, St. 
Denis had loved, not without reciprocity, the 
beautiful daughter of the old Don. 

What a pretty tale might be made of it, 
which would deserve to be written with a feather 
dropped from Cupid's wing! But when the lov- 
ers were still hesitating as to the course they 
would pursue, and discussing the propriety of 
making a full disclosure to him who, in the shape 
of a father, was the arbiter of their destiny, there 
arrived twenty-five men, sent by Don Gaspardo 
Anaya, the governor of Caouis, with secret in- 
structions, which were soon made manifest, to 
the dismay of the lovers; for these emissaries 
seized St. Denis and his friend Jallot and con- 
veyed them to Caouis, Where they were detained 
in prison until the beginning of 1715. From this 
place of confinement, St. Denis, fearing that the 
hostility evinced toward him might be extended 
to the rest of his companions, ordered them to 
return speedily to Natchitoches. 

Don Gaspardo Anaya had been the unsuccess- 
ful suitor of Dona Maria, the daughter of Villes- 
cas. What must have been his rage when he was 
informed by his spies that the newcomer, the 
brilliant Frenchman, had triumphed where he 
had failed! But now he had that hated rival in 
his clutches, and he was omnipotent, and, if the 
stranger died in the dungeon of Caouis, who, in 
these distant and rugged mountains, would bring 
him, the governor, to an account? Perilous in- 



THE EXPEDITION OF ST. DENIS. 9 

deed was the situation of St. Denis, and heavy 
must have been his thoughts in his solitary con- 
finement ! 

For six months St. Denis was thus detained 
prisoner, and the only consideration which saved 
his life was the hope, on the part of Anaya, that 
prolonged sufferings would drive his victim to 
renounce his betrothal. At the same time he 
repeatedly sent secret messengers to Dona Ma- 
ria, whose mission was to inform her that her 
lover would be put to death if she did not wed 
Anaya. But the noble Castilian maid invariably 
returned the same answer: "Tell Anaya that I 
cannot marry him as long as St. Denis lives, be- 
cause St. Denis I love; and tell him that if St. 
Denis dies this little Moorish dagger, v^hich was 
my mother's gift, shall be planted, either by my- 
self or my agent's hand, in the middle of his das- 
tardly heart, wherever he may be." This was 
said with a gentle voice, with a calm mien, 'as if 
it had been an ordinary message, but with such 
a gleam in the eye as is nowhere to be seen ex- 
cept in Spain's or Arabia's daughters. The 
words, the look and the tone were minutely re- 
ported to Anaya, and he paused! — ^and it is well 
that he did so, and a bolder heart than his would 
have hesitated; he knew the indomitable spirit 
of his race — ^he knew the old Cantabrian blood — 
and that Spain's sweetest doves will, when 
roused, dare the eagle to mortal combat! 

The Spanish maid did not remain inactive, 
and satisfied with deploring her lover's captivity. 
She dispatched to Mexico a trusty servant, such 



10 CHARLES GAYARRE, 

as is only found in Spanish households, one of 
those menials that never question the will of their 
lord or lady, dogs for fidelity, lions for courage, 
who will tear to pieces whatever is designated to 
them, if such be the order of their masters. His 
mission was to find put the means of informing 
the Viceroy that a Frenchman, a presumed spy, 
had been for several months in the hands of the 
governor of Caouis, who was suspected of con- 
cealing his captive from the knowledge of the 
higher authorities, in order to tamper with his 
prisoner for a ransom. The object of this false 
information was to excite the jealous attention 
of the government, and to withdraw St. Denis, 
at all risks from the dangerous situation he was 
in. This stratagem succeeded, and, much to his 
astonishment, Anaya received a peremptory or- 
der to send his prisoner to Mexico, with a sure 
escort, and at the peril of his head if he failed ! 

One morning St. Denis found himself sud- 
denly seated on a strong, powerful horse, amid a 
detachment of twenty men, who were evidently 
prepared for a long journey. He asked whither 
he was to be carried, and was particularly in- 
quisitive about his friend Jallot, Who had been 
put into a separate dungeon, and of whom he had 
heard nothing since his captivity; but he was 
dragged away without any answer being given to 
his inquiries. Seven hundred and fifty miles did 
he travel without stopping, except it be for such 
time as was absolutely necessary to take a hur- 
ried rest, when the magnificent city of Mexico 
ried rest, when the magnificent City of Mexico 
There he flattered himself that he would obtain 



THE EXPEDITION OF ST. DENIS. 11 

justice, but he soon experienced that change of 
place had been for him no more than a change 
of captivity. Lrdbk at that woe-begone prisoner 
in that horrible dungeon, where he is chained to 
the wall like a malefactor! His constitution is 
completely broken down; his body is so ema- 
ciated by his long sufferings, and by the want of 
wholesome food, that it presents the appearance 
of a skeleton; his long matted hair shrouds his 
face, and his shaggy beard hangs down to his 
breast. Who would have recognized the brilliant 
St. Denis in this miserable object, in this hideous- 
looking, iron-bound felon — a felon in aspect, if 
not in reality! 

One day an unusual stir was Observed in 
front of his prison. The short, brief word^ of 
command outside, the clashing of arms, the 
heavy tramping of horses, St. Denis could dis- 
tinctly hear in his dismal abode. The noise ap- 
proached; the doors of his cell turned slowly on 
their rusty hinges ; on came the bustling and ob- 
sequious jailer, ushering in an officer who was 
escorted by a file of soldiers. It was one whom 
the Viceroy had ordered to examine into the sit- 
uation of all the prisons of Mexico, and to make 
a report on their unfortunate tenants. 'Whom 
have we here?" said the officer, in an abrupt 
tone. "I," exclaimed St. Denis, starting to his 
feet; "I, Juchereau de St. Denis, a gentleman by 
birth, a prisoner by oppression, and now a suitor 
for justice." On hearing these words the officer 
started back with astonishment; then rushing 
to St. Denis, and putting his face close to the 



12 CHARLES GAYARRE. 

face of the captive, removing with his trembling 
hand the disheveled locks that concealed the 
prisoner's features, and scanning every linea- 
ment with a rapid but intense look, he said, with 
a quivering voice, which, through emotion, had 
sunk to a whisper: "You were born in Canada?" 
**Yes." "Educated in France, at the Royal Col- 
lege of Paris?" "Yes." "You left France to 
seek your fortune in Louisiana?" "I did." "By 
heaven, jailer, off with those accursed chains! 
quick ! set those noble limbs free !" And he threw 
himself sobbing into the arms of the astonished 
St. Denis, who thought himself the dupe of a 
dream, but who at last recognized in his liberator 
one of the companions of his youth, his best early 
friend, the Marquis de Larnage, Who, with some 
other young Frenchmen, had entered into the 
Spanish army, and who had risen to be the Vice- 
roy's favorite aid-de-camp. What a dramatic 
scene ! 

What a change ! Here we are in the gorgeous 
halls of Montezuma, where the barbaric splendor 
of the Aztec emperors has been improved by the 
more correct and tasteful application of Spanish 
magnificence; there is a festival at the palace of 
the Viceroy — 

"The long carousal shakes the illumined hall ; 
Well speeds alike the banquet and the ball." 

Noble and beautiful dames! — Silk, brocade, and 
diamonds! — Gentlemen of high birth — renowned 
soldiers — glittering uniforms, studded with stars 
and other decorations — ^breasts scarred with 



THE EXPEDITION OF ST. DENIS. 13 

wounds — brains teeming with aspirations — 
grave magistrates — sage councillors — subtle dip- 
lomats — scheming heads! 

Suddenly the large folding doors of an inner 
apartment are thrown open, and the Viceroy is 
seen at table, with a few favored and envied 
guests, enjoying the delicacies of the most 
gorgeous banquet. What an accumulated treas- 
ure of gold and silver, under every form that con- 
vivial imagination can fancy, and in the shape of 
plates, dishes, chandeliers, and every sort of ad- 
mirably chiseled vases! But who is that noble- 
looking cavalier on the righthand side of the 
Viceroy? Can it be St. Denis, the late tenant of 
a gloomy jail? It is. Presented by his friend, 
the aide-de-camp, to the representative of his 
Majesty of Spain, the Duke of Linares, he has 
become such a favorite that his daily and con- 
stant attendance' is required at court. Nay, the 
affection which the Viceroy had conceived for St. 
Denis had so grown upon that nobleman that he 
had insisted upon the young Frenchman being 
lodged in the palace, where every favor was at 
his command. 

Amid all the festivities of the vice-regal court, 
St. Denis had but one thought, one aspiration — 
that of returning to his lady-love, and to his 
friend Jallot. He had even refused the most 
brilliant proposals from the Viceroy, such as a 
high grade in the Spanish army, saying: "I can 
serve but one God and one king. I am a French- 
man, and, highly as I esteem the Spaniards, I 
cannot become one." "But," replied the Vice- 
roy, "you are already half a Spaniard, for you 



14 CHARLES GAYARRE, 

have confessed to me that you love a Spanish 
maid." ''True," observed St. Denis, ''but it is not 
certain that I can marry her, because I consider 
her father's consent as doubtful." "Well, then, 
accept my offers," exclaitned the Viceroy, "and I 
pledge my knightly word to remove every obsta- 
'cle that may be in your v^ay." St. Denis ex- 
pressed his thanks, as one overwhelmed with 
gratitude at such kindness, but could not be 
shaken from his determination. 

"To lose such a man as you are," said the 
Viceroy, "is a serious trial to me, but I admire, 
even in its exaggeration, the sentiment by which 
you are actuated. Farewell, then, and may God 
bless you and yours forever. My last hope is 
that Doha Maria will induce you to adopt New 
Spain for your country. With regard to the 
commercial relations, which, in the name of the 
governor of Louisiana, you have asked me to 
permit between that province and those of my 
government, tell him that it is not in my power to 
accede to his propositions." The preparations of 
St. Denis for his departure were not of long dura- 
tion, for the lady of his heart beckoned to him 
from the walls of the Presidio del Norte. The 
Viceroy presented him with a large sum of gold, 
which he graciously said was intended to pay 
his wedding expenses. He also sent him, for his 
journey, a superb Andalusian steed, ordering at 
the same time that he should be escorted by an 
officer and two dragoons from the City of Mexico 
to Caouis. 

On the forced departure of St. Denis for the 
City of Mexico, Jallot had been set at liberty, and 



THE EXPEDITION OF ST. DENIS. 15 

had ever since remained at Caouis waiting for 
the decision of the fate of St. Denis. He was 
known to be a physician, and, as he was the only- 
one within a radius of one hundred miles, he was 
soon in full practice. In the course of a few 
months he had performed so many cures and 
rendered so many services that he was looked 
upon as something almost supernatural. At last, 
the governor grew incensed and swore that he 
would hang Jallot, and sent some soldiers to arrest 
him. But the people, who loved Jallot, and feared 
being deprived of his invaluable services, rose 
upon the soldiery, beat them off, and proclaimed 
that they would hang the governor himself if he 
persisted in his intention of hanging Jallot. 
Matters were in this ticklish situation when St. 
Denis returned to Caouis. 

In company with his friend Jallot, who was 
almost distracted with joy at his safe return, St. 
Denis immediately waited upon the governor, 
to whom he communicated a letter-patent, by 
which the Viceroy gave authority to St. Denis to 
inflict upon Anaya, for his abuse of power, any 
punishment which he might think proper, pro- 
vided it stopped short of death. The terror of 
the governor may easily be conceived ; but, after 
enjoying his enemy's confusion for a short time, 
St. Denis tore to pieces the Viceroy's letter, and 
retired, leaving the culprit, whom he despised, 
to the castigation of heaven and to the stings of 
his own conscience. He did more: finding the 
governor ill, he requested Jallot to perform an 
operation which this worthy had hitherto ob- 
stinately refused to do. The surgeon, who was 



16 CHARLES GAYARRE, 

mollified by his friend's return, consented, not, 
however, without terrific grumblings, to use his 
surgical skill to relieve the bed-ridden governor, 
and he admirably succeeded in the difficult opera- 
tion, upon which the fate of his patient depended. 
But he peremptorily and contemptuously refused 
the fee that was tendered him, and informed the 
governor, face to face, and with his roughest 
tone, that he deserved no remuneration for the 
cure, because he had saved his life merely out of 
spite, and under the firm conviction that he would 
ere long die on the gallows. 

Let us now rapidly proceed with St. Denis 
from Caouis to the Presidio del Norte. There he 
found a great change; — not that the lady of his 
love was not as true and as beautiful as ever, but 
the place looked lonesome and desolate. The five 
Indian villages which formed a sort of belt 
round the Presidio, at a short distance from its 
walls, were deserted. A gloomy cloud had set- 
tled over the spot which he had known so brisk 
and thriving; — and Villescas told him, with the 
greatest consternation, that the Indians had 
withdrawn on account of their having been mo- 
lested by the Spaniards, and that, if the Indians 
persisted in their intention of removing away to 
distant lands, the government of Mexico, whose 
settled policy it was to conciliate the frontier In- 
dians, would be informed of what had happened, 
and would certainly visit him with punishment 
for official misconduct, negligence or dereliction 
of duty. "I will run after the fugitives,** ex- 
claimed St. Denis, "and use my best efforts to 
bring them back." **Do so," replied the old man. 



THE EXPEDITION OF ST. DENIS. 17 

**and if you succeed there is nothing in my power 
which I can refuse you." On hearing these 
words, which made his heart thrill, as it were, 
with an electric shock, St. Denis vaulted on his 
good Andalusian steed and started full speed in 
the direction the Indians had taken. 

The Indians, encumbered with women and 
children, had been progressing very slowly, with 
the heavy baggage they were carrying with 
them, and St. Denis had not traveled long be- 
fore he discovered from the top of the hill the mov- 
ing train. He waved a white flag and redoubled 
his speed; the Indians stopped and tarried for 
his approach. When he came up to them they 
formed a dense circle around him and silently 
waited for his communication. ''My friends," 
said St. Denis, ''I am sent by the governor of the 
Presidio del Norte to tell you that he pleads 
guilty to his red children; he confesses that you 
have been long laboring under grievances which 
he neglected to redress, and that you have been 
frequently oppressed. Do not, therefore, be ob- 
stinate, my friends, and do not keep shut the 
gates of your hearts, when the pale-faced chief, 
with his gray hairs, knocks for admittance, but 
let his words of repentance fall upon your souls, 
like a refreshing dew, and revive your drooping 
attachment for him. Do not give up your heredi- 
tary hunting-grounds, the cemeteries of your 
forefathers, and your ancestral villages, with 
rash precipitancy. Whither are you going? 
Your native soil does not stick to your feet, and 
it is the only soil which is always pleasant ; what 
distant lands will you be permitted to occupy, 



18 CHARLES GAYARRE, 

without fighting desperate battles with the na- 
tions upon whose territory you will have tres- 
passed? On the other hand, if you return, as I 
advise you to, and should you not be satisfied, it 
will always be time enough to resume your des- 
perate enterprise of emigration." 

This is the substance of what St. Denis told 
his red auditory, and the Indians, who, perhaps, 
were beginning to regret the step they had taken, 
spontaneously marched back, with St. Denis rid- 
ing triumphantly at their head. 

Now all is joy again at the Presidio, and the 
smile of contentment has lighted up the face of 
the country for miles around. From the Spanish 
battlements banners wave gaily; the cannons 
crack their sides with innocent roaring; muskets 
are discharged in every direction, but from their 
tubes there do not sally any murderous balls. 
The whole population, white and red, is dressed 
in its best apparel; whole sheep, oxen and buffa- 
loes are roasted in the Homeric style; immense 
tables are spread in halls, bowers and under 
shady trees; whole casks of Spanish wines and 
of the Mexican pulque are broached; the milk 
and honey of the land flow with unrestrained 
abundance; the Indians shout, dance, and cut 
every sort of antics. Well may all rejoice, for it 
is the wedding day of St. Denis and Dona Maria ! 




Iq^i 



:h 



ELIZA JANE NICHOLSON. 

Eliza Jane Poitevent, born 1849, is known to many 
only under her pen name, ''Pearl Rivers." Her first liter- 
ary efforts were contributed to the Picayune, whose editor 
she afterwards married. After his death she married Mr. 
George Nicholson, and, with him as joint owner, she con- 
ducted the paper. Only one volume of her many poems, 
the Lyrics, has been collected and published. Her best- 
known poem is Hagar. It is most unfortunate that her 
death, in 1897, came befor'e she had prepared all of her 
poems for publication. 



ONLY A DOG. 

''Only a dog !" You wonder why 
I grieve so much to see him die. 

Ah ! if you knew 
How true a friend a dog can be ! 
And what a friend he was to me, 

When friends were few! 

"Only a dog — a beast," you sneer ; 
"Not worthy of a sigh or tear." 

Speak not to me 
Such falsehood of my poor dumb friend 
While I have language to defend 

His memory. 

Through ups and downs, through thick and thin 
My boon companion he has been 
For years and years. 



20 ELIZA JANE NICHOLSON, 

He journeyed with me miles and miles ; 
I gave him frowns, I gave him smiles, 
And now, sad tears. 

Before my children came, his white. 
Soft head was pillowed every night 

Upon my breast. 
So let him lie just one time more 
Upon my bosom as before, 

And take his rest. 

And when a tenderer love awoke, 
The first sweet word my baby spoke 

Was "Mat." Poor Mat! 
Could I no other reason tell, 
My mother heart would love you well, 

For only that. 

Together boy and dog have laid 
Upon my lap ; together played 

Around my feet, 
Till laugh and bark together grew 
So much alike I scarcely knew 

Which was more sweet. 

Ah ! go away and let me cry. 

For now you know the reason why 

I loved him sa. 
Leave me alone to close his eyes, 
That looked so wistful and so wise. 

Trying to know. 

At garden gate or open door 
You'll run to welcome me no more. 
Dear little friend. 



ONLY A DOG. 21 

You were so kind, so good and true, 
I question, looking down at you. 
Is this the end ? 

Is there for you no "other side?" 
No home beyond death's chilly tide 

And heavy fog. 
Where meekness and fidelity 
Will meet reward, although you be 

Only a dog? 

My dog had love, and faith, and joy — 
As much as had my baby boy — 

Intelligence ; 
Could smell, see, hear, and suffer pain. 
What makes a soul if these are vain? 

When I go hence 

'Tis my belief my dog will be 
Among the first to welcome me. 

Believing that, 
I keep his collar and his bell. 
And do not say to him farewell, 

But good-bye. Mat, 

Dear faithful Mat. 



22 ELIZA JANE NICHOLSON, 



MYSELF. 

Well, once I was a little girl, 

A-dwelling in the wood. 
Beside a laughing-loving stream. 

With aunt and uncle good. 

Within a rambling, old log house 

That thought it was no sin. 
Through other places than the door, 

To let the sunshine in. 

With quaint old chimneys at each end, 
Where swallows used to come 

And twitter low *'how glad are we 
To find a summer home." 

With windows low and narrow, too, 
Where birds came peeping in 

To wake me up at early morn ; 
And oft I used to win. 

The Cherokees to climb the sill ; 

The gossip-loving bee 
To come so near that he would pause 

And buzz a word to me. 

No other child grew on the place; 

A merry, roguish elf, 
I played "keeping house" in shady nooks 

All by my little self. 



MYSELF. 23 

I leaped the brook, I climbed the bars, 

I rode upon the hay ; 
To swing upon the old barn gate, 

To me was merry play. 

I waded in the shallow stream 

To break the lilies sweet, 
And laughed to see the minnows swim 

So near my rosy feet. 

I rode the pony down to drink, 
He played some pranks with me, 

But I had learned to hold on tight. 
And was as wild as he. 

I could not keep my bonnet on, 

The briars tore the frill ; 
The winds untied the knotted strings. 

And tossed it at their will. 

The sun grew friendly with me then. 

And still the signs I trace 
Of many a merry trick he played 

Upon my neck and face. 

My dress and apron bore the sign 

Of frolic wild and free ; 
The brambles caught my yellow hair, 

And braided it for me. 

My teacher was a dear old man. 

Who took me on his knee, 
And better far than vexing books. 

He held a kiss from me. 
(3) 



24 ELIZA JANE NICHOLSON. 

I could not learn geography, 

The ''States" I could not "bound," 

But many a city built by ants. 
And daisy towns I found. 

Arithmetic and grammar 

Were never in my line ; 
No measured rule was made to chain 

A spirit free as mine. 

But I was quick to learn some things, 

As all the rills could tell ; 
I knew just where the waters bright. 

With softest music fell. 

I knew the names of all the birds, 
And which could sing the best; 

I knew just where the speckled hen 
Had made her latest nest. 

I knew how many drops of rain 
The pitcher plant could hold, 

And on the butterfly's bright wing 
How many spots of gold. 

And how the spider's curious web 

Was jeweled by the dew, 
And where the largest chinquapins 

And whortleberries grew. 

For I, though but a simple child. 

In nature's ways was wise ; 
I followed her day after day. 

With wonder-loving eyes. 

I knew the track the ground-mole made. 

And followed it to see 
Where all the windings strange would end ; 

I knew the hollow tree 



MYSELF. 25 

Where hid the sly fox squirrel, 
And the hole where slept the hare ; 

But at their open, humble door 
I never set a snare. 

I was a wild, but loving child ; 

My little feet ne'er trod 
Upon the weakest, meanest thing 

That crawls upon the sod. 

They were my playmates and my friends 

And, more than all, I knew 
That if I loved His creatures well, 

The Lord would love me too. 

And sometimes I would lonely be, 

And so I learned to talk 
To all the insects and the birds, 

And once I took a walk 

To ask the sweet, white violets. 

That grew down by the creek. 
To teach me how to speak the tongues 

That all the flowers speak. 

I thought it best to go to them, 

They are so meek, you know, 
And teachers like these humble ones 

Can best God's wisdom show. 

They seemed to think I was too young 

To learn their language well; 
I thought I heard them ask the stream. 

Quite low, if it could tell 



26 ELIZA JANE NICHOLSON. 

How many years the little maid 
Had laughed with it ; for when 

I guessed what all their whispers meant, 
And softly answered ''ten/' 

They smiled, as though they thought it time 

The little maid should turn 
From her harum-scarum ways, 

And sit by them and learn 

The gentle words and modest grace, 
That maidens all should wear. 

That guard the heart, and make the face, 
Tho' homely, sweet and fair. 

And so I softly laid my head 
Down close beside their own, 

Upon the fragrant, mossy bed. 
And in the softest tone, 

So that zephyr could not hear 

And spread it to the breeze, 
Or rustle it with laughter light 

To all the listening trees. 

They taught me my first lesson through 

And said some other day. 
When they were strengthened by the dew, 

That I might leave my play. 

And they would talk to me again. 

I kissed them o'er and o'er, 
And deep within my heart I hid 

My wealth of flower lore. 



(By permission of Leonard Nicholson and J. B. 
Lippincott & Co.) 




^ollic Woorc 



MARY EVELYN MOORE DAVIS. 

MoLLiE Moore Davis was born in Talladega, Ala., spent 
her girlhood in Texas, and, shortly after her marriage in 
1874, moved to New Orleans, where she continued to reside 
until her death in 1909. She was for years the center of a 
brilliant literary and artistic circle, adding much to its dis- 
tinction by both her prose and verse. Her poems have truly 
been said to possess "a wide range of excellence, a lofty 
sweep of thought, and richness in exquisite fancies." Her 
prose is free from all affectation and striving for effect, and, 
especially in her typically Southern stories, her reader is 
won, at once, by the delicacy of her sympathy and the 
strong feeling of a true and sincere heart. 

She has written, among other titles. In War Times at 
La Rose Blanche; An Elephant's Track; The Wire Cutters; 
Under the Man-Fig, and A Masque of St. Roche and Other 
Poems. 



A CREVASSE. 

FROM 

IN WAR TIMES AT LA ROSE BLANCHE. 

Every day it crept nearer to the top of the 
levee — the big, tawny River. Until, one morning, 
it glinted and gleamed, under the June sky, level 
with the high crest ; and when a light breeze blew 
across its foamy surface, little waves came wash- 
ing over and trickled down the long grass-grown 
slope into the dusty road that ran alongside. 

The cane-crop of La Rose Blanche was ''laid 



28 MARY EVELYN MOORE DAVIS. 

by." Over the quiet fields stretched an unbroken 
sweep of beryl-green, where sunshine and shadow 
chased each other, and whence, at intervals, arose 
little rhythmic murmurs, as if the Small People 
were at play in the cool, dim underworld beneath. 

In the cornfields rank upon rank of bronze 
tassels were jauntily tossing, and within the 
shelter of broad rustling blades below nestled the 
tender, milky roasting-ears, with shreds of yellow 
silk escaping from their soft enfolding sheaths. 

In the cotton patch, where the hoes were still 
busy, the rich, brown earth showed between rows 
of dark, velvety green; and, of mornings, spots 
of vivid color glowed where blue and crimson 
morning-glories trailed their tangled vines. 

The rose-hedges were white with long waxen 
buds, and wide-open, large-leaved blossoms with 
yellow hearts that quivered in the sun. The lawn 
was sweet with the musky perfume of sensitive- 
plants, whose fluffy balls were half hidden in the 
rank growth of unshaven grass. And from the 
rose-garden every afternoon mother brought a 
great shallow basket piled high with rose-petals to 
add to the heap already drying in a shady corner 
of the veranda for the spice-jars. 

The Jack-beans clambering over the cabins 
down at the Quarter swung their long purple clus- 
ters of bloom lazily in the air ; and the gourd-vines 
flashed their yellow trumpets. 

The bananas, whose tattered leaves were never 
silent, were beginning to put out long crooked 
arms with bunches of paly-pink, down-drooping 
flowers at the ends. The orange trees were hung 
thick with tiny green globes. 



A CREVASSE. 29 

''How pretty it all looks, Uncle Joshua!" said 
mother. 

"It surely does," responded Uncle Joshua, let- 
ting his gaze wander slowly from field to field out 
to the dark moss-hung swamp, and back again, by 
hedge, and patch, and rose-garden. ''But, Miss 
Lucy, see that river. The good Lord grant it don't 
rain," he concluded, despondently, as he went off 
to have more earth shoveled against the weak 
place in the levee. 

Grandma Selden (Mere, we always called her) , 
who had come up from River- View on her annual 
visit, said in her soft, pretty French — for Mere 
had never learned to speak English, and was deaf 
to us all, even to Grandpa, unless w^e addressed her 
in her own tongue — Mere said that La Rose 
Blanche looked Just as it did when she was a little 
girl. She was born at La Rose Blanche, and grew 
up there and was there married to Grandpa, who 
then could not speak a word of French, but who 
managed somehow, being young and brave and 
handsome, to woo and win her. 

Old Justine, who stood behind her Mistress' 
chair, tossed her head and said (her patois was as 
musical as Mere's French) that for her part she 
thought it was much prettier when Madame was 
a girl, and Madame's father was alive, and before 
the Americans got their hands on it. 

By this she meant our La Rose Blanche ne- 
groes, who came into the family with Grandpa 
and with father. 

That very day the rain began to fall — not hard 
at first, but in a gentle drizzle, through which all 
green things looked greener still. But at dark 



30 MARY EVELYN MOORE DAVIS. 

the sky became heavy with ominous clouds, crossed 
and recrossed incessantly by white blinding 
streaks of lightning; and sharp thunder claps 
from time to time burst upon the sultry, breath- 
less air. 

Lights were twinkling down by the River, 
where guards paced to and fro, keeping watch 
over the levee — that precious rampart which alone 
stretched between utter destruction and the un- 
conscious teeming fields below. In front of Bon 
Soldat a huge fire was blazing, and further down 
we could see, red against the stormy sky, the 
smoke of another that we knew must mark the 
upper boundary of River- View. 

Suddenly the wind arose, bringing with it a 
strange sound, deep, hoarse, continuous, like the 
prolonged roar of a wild beast. The quick rush of 
down-falling rain drowned it for a breath, but 
through a momentary lull it broke again, hollow, 
menacing, terrible. 

It was the voice of the River — the growl of 
the wild beast preparing to spring upon its prey ! 

The lights on the levee hurried wildly about, 
and presently gathered like a swarm of gigantic 
fireflies about that fatal ''weak place," over 
against the orange plantation, and where the bank 
made a little curve inward. 

Then hasty footsteps went splashing by under 
the window. A cry rang sharply out; and the 
fierce clangor of the plantation-bell smote into the 
fury of the storm. 

We knew what that meant! The weak place 
had given way! A crevasse had broken through 
the levee I 



A CREVASSE. 31 

The bell of our little church at the landing re- 
plied almost instantly — in softer and mellower 
tones; and soon, like a far-away echo, came the 
response of the Bon Soldat bell. 

The Quarter sprang into life; torches flared 
from one cabin to another ; squads of men tramped 
across the yard laughing, grumbling, singing, hal- 
looing. Then, through the sweep of the rain, and 
above the roar of the River, we heard the crack- 
ing of whips down the levee road; and the loud 
outcry of teamsters urging their mules to a run ; 
and the creaking of wheels, as heavily-loaded 
wagons came lumbering up from the neighboring 
plantations. A little later and a dozen voices 
began to shout out hoarse commands to an ever- 
increasing, yelling, distracted crowd. 

For hours with our faces pressed against the 
window-panes, we children watched the flames of 
the great bonfires flaring and leaping in the wind, 
and listened to the sounds that came, now confused 
and indistinct, now loud and clear, through the 
sudden hushes of the storm. 

Meanwhile Mammy had made her way to the 
kitchen, with Aunt Hester, the cook, and half-a- 
dozen of the women, and there they were baking 
corn-pone, and frying bacon, and boiling huge 
pots of parched-potato and parched-molasses 
coffee. Mother and Mere and Cousin Nellie were 
in the dining room packing hampers. And all 
night long Grief and Jake and Jerry were kept 
busy carrying food and drink out to the exhausted 
workers. 

The next morning the rain had ceased, but the 
sky was gray and lowering, and rough gusts of 
wind still blew out of the east. 



32 MARY EVELYN MOORE DAVIS, 

The little boys stayed with Mere, but I went 
with mother; Uncle Joshua led the sugar mule 
around and lifted her into the saddle. I was 
perched behind her with my arms clasped tightly 
around her waist. 

A thick yellow stream of water was forcing 
itself sullenly along the lane toward the swamp; 
as we approached the River it grew suddenly 
deeper and mounted almost to the axles of the 
wagons grouped in a corner of the field. The 
mules fastened to the troughs behind stood in it 
up to their knees, placidly munching away at the 
wisps of hay that came floating by from the 
stacks waiting their turn to be packed into the 
barricade. 

A few hundred yards to the left the army of 
men were at work, wheeling barrow-loads of 
earth from the back fields; filling earth-bags; 
splashing through water waist-deep about the 
partly-closed crevasse, driving piles, laying tim- 
bers, heaping straw, brushwood, earth — what not ! 
against the growing rampart. 

There were the Bon Soldat negroes and those 
of River- View and Ridgefield ; and many familiar 
faces, black and white, from around about the 
Parish; and working away with a will, like the 
rest, were a dozen or more of Yankee soldiers 
from the camp above the bend. 

Grandpa Selden was standing on the slippery 
crest of the levee shouting directions to the men 
below; and Major Brentling, with his one arm, 
was helping to drag a heavy beam up the wet 
slope. 

The men all stopped work for a minute as 



A CREVASSE. 33 

mother came riding up, and burst into a ringing 
cheer. Their voices sounded far-away and faint 
in my ears ; everything swam before my eyes and 
I grew sick and dizzy. Uncle Joshua reached up 
and took me in his arms. 

The vast, foaming, tawny sea roared by far 
above our heads, swirHng against the half -finished 
barrier, and here and there breaking through; it 
dashed in angry waves over the long line of solid 
embankment and poured down the sloping sides 
to mingle with the muddy flood that filled the 
road and was already encroaching upon the fields. 

The unconscious fields were laughing back at 
the blue sky, beginning to smile through the part- 
ing clouds! 

Suddenly a warning shout rang from the top 
of the levee. An enormous tree-trunk with jagged 
ends, where wide-spreading limbs had been, 
came plunging against the barricade; it struck 
the piling with a dull boom, recoiled, rose almost 
erect in the air, balancing itself and churning the 
water frantically for a second, and plunged for- 
ward again. 

A cry of rage and despair burst from four or 
five hundred throats as the piling gave way, the 
earth-bags melted, and the torrent came leaping, 
seething, hissing through. Some of the men were 
beaten to the ground by the force of the sudden 
rush. 

"What will they do now?" I asked when Uncle 
Joshua had turned back toward the house with 
me. "Just go back at her again, child." 

This was indeed but the beginning. Day after 
day the fight went on with pretty much the same 



34 MARY EVELYN MOORE DAVIS. 

result. Sometimes Grandpa would come stump- 
ing in and announce with a sigh of satisfaction 
that the crevasse was closed at last. The wet and 
wearied men would go home to their well-earned 
rest, leaving the patrol alone on his beat. The 
scantily-stocked store-room of La Rose Blanche 
would be shut ; the ordinary routine of the house- 
hold would be resumed, and, a few hours later, 
the bell would clang out its imperious summons, 
and the conflict would begin anew. 

In the meantime, the in-pouring torrent—at 
first taken off to the swamp by the draining ditches 
— was slowly but steadily overflowing their banks. 
Inch by inch it crawled through the orange-plan- 
tation, along the lane, up the fields, into the 
grounds — until by the time the crevasse was really 
closed it spread an unbroken lake over La Rose 
Blanche, across Bon Soldat, and beat against the 
steps of the River- View great-house miles away 
down the river. 

Only the rear-cane-fields somehow escaped and 
stood high and dry above the water, and here in 
a snug corner the mules and cattle were housed. 

At first the waves, that lapped softly against 
the basement windows and rippled away over the 
lawn and sparkled in the hot sunlight, were thick 
and muddy. But gradually they became clear; 
then, as if in a vast mirror, we could see the soft 
grass, and the little hedges and rose-bushes and 
the violet-beds, emerald-green, waving back and 
forth with a gentle undulatory motion far below 
the wind-stirred surface. The partly submerged 
rose-hedges bloomed defiantly, their glossy leaves 
and waxen buds refiecting in the clear pool below ; 



A CREVASSE, 35 

the tall cane standing deep in the flood rustled its 
plumy tufts gayly. 

But, after awhile, a sickly yellow began to 
steal over the fields ; the hedges strewed the waves 
with white unopened buds; a thick scum over- 
spread the water and a damp, clinging, curious 
odor pervaded the air. 

We seeemed to be living in a strange, new 
world. Sometimes a fish leaped up near a trellis 
showing his white glistening sides as he fell back 
with a splash. Then the little boys would rush 
headlong into the house for their poles and lines, 
and they would hang for hours over the banisters 
waiting for a nibble. Long, slimy, greenish 
snakes would coil themselves on the steps to bask 
in the sunshine, and hardly take the trouble to 
slide off when anybody came down to the boats 
moored against the pillars with their paddles laid 
across. Once, a monstrous alligator glided across 
the lawn, swimming, his rusty nose in the air, and 
dived under the rose-garden gate. Ten minutes 
later, a baby-one, three or four feet long, came 
crawling up the steps, making a funny little puf- 
fing noise as he came, and when he reached the 
veranda he stretched himself out with a grunt and 
lay there lazily opening and shutting his small 
eyes. 

Boats were darting about all day long from 
one part of the plantation to another. Uncle 
Joshua every morning piloted out a fleet of little 
pirogues to some point where work could yet be 
done. Hester and Mammy went and came from the 
Quarter, paddling themselves awkwardly, while 
Jake and Grief in their light dug-outs danced jeer- 



36 MARY EVELYN MOORE DAVIS, 

ing and chaffing around them. Often a yell of de- 
risive laughter would bring us to the back gallery, 
and there would come the two dear old souls, drip- 
ping, muddy, and scolding; dragging their over- 
turned boat after them, and threatening with up- 
lifted oars the saucy youngsters. 

Every day mother, in the ''ladies'-boat," pulled 
by Jerry, went to our little church at the landing, 
taking one or more of us children with her ; some- 
times she made a visit to Madame Br ion at Bon 
Soldat; or even ventured as far as River- View to 
fetch back something for Mere, who never trusted 
herself in a boat. 

One night the fleet of pirogues came sweeping 
along the lane between the high rose-hedges ; the 
men were singing, keeping time to the splash of 
their paddles. They turned, one after another, 
into the wide gateway, their rich, mellow voices 
floating across to us where we sat in the starlight 
on the veranda. 

As they bore away toward the Quarter, a boat 
detached itself from the dark mass and shot noise- 
lessly over the lawn to the house. 

It was the "ladies'-boat," which had been to 
carry Cousin Nellie to Bon Soldat for the night. 

As Jerry drew up alongside the steps and 
rested on his oars, a large dog rose in the hinder 
part of the boat and leaped out. He stood a mo- 
ment, as if hesitating, on the lower step and then 
bounded swiftly up and disappeared into the hall. 

The next morning the little boys came down 
from their play-room under the roof in a high 
state of excitement. 



A CREVASSE. 37 

"We've got a new dog/' said Sam. ''It isn't 
Madame Brion's Csesar-dog, either." 

"Such a nice dog," added Will. 

"He let us play with him," explained little 
Percy. And they hurried away with a plateful 
of bread for their playmate. 

The new dog was really a comfort, mother said. 
Her mind had not been so easy about the boys 
since the flood came with its snakes and alligators, 
and perhaps other and undreamed-of dangers. 
They were at least safe up in the garret with a 
good-natured dog. 

They trotted off every morning as soon as they 
had finished breakfast, with an ample supply for 
Mont'rey — his name was "Mont'rey," they said, 
"after Grandpa's leg" — and shouts of gleeful 
laughter and joyous cries would presently come 
ringing down the stairs. 

One day they took old Jupe up to the play-room 
to introduce him to the new dog. But Jupe evi- 
dently did not find the new dog to his liking, for 
we heard him utter a wild yell, and directly he 
came tearing down the stairs, with his tail be- 
tween his legs and the skin fairly quivering on 
his lean body. He plunged into the water and 
made for Mammy's cabin ; and no threats or coax- 
ing could thereafter induce him to enter the great- 
house. 

One afternoon, when the glee overhead was 
louder even than usual, Mere, who had a head- 
ache, said to mother: "Lucille, I wish you would 
go up and tell the little boys, and the new dog, to 
be just a little more quiet." 

When mother reached the head of the second 



38 MARY EVELYN MOORE DAVIS. ^ 

stairway, she opened the door of the play-room 
and looked in. 

They were playing ''soldier." Little Percy 
marched at the head of the line, beating lustily 
upon an old tin bucket ; Will followed, with his lath 
sword held stiffly against his breast ; Charley and 
Sam trod hard upon his heels, their stick-guns 
upon their shoulders and their canteens swinging 
at their sides. And the new dog, with Percy's 
straw hat stuck on the back of his head, brought 
up the rear, walking on his hind legs. 

Mother turned pale at the sight of him, and al- 
most swooned. The new dog was a big shaggy, 
half-grown black bear ! 

He had been driven in by the overflow and 
tamed by the innocent confidence of his little 
hosts ! 

He dropped on all-fours and growled when 
mother came in, but, seeing that his comrades 
marched away undisturbed, he cocked his head a 
little on one side and stood up again; and there 
they went, around and around, the tin drum rat- 
tling, the small Captain gravely marking time, the 
"company" keeping step. 

''Boom!" said an imaginary cannon. Charley 
and Sam fell down groaning. The bear stood still 
and looked at them. But Captain Will gave him 
a smart slap with his lath sword, and down he 
tumbled in a heap with the others. 

"Isn't he a good doggie, mother?" asked Char- 
ley, when they had all scrambled to their feet. 

Mother said yes, though her knees trembled. 

"We've put another name to him," Sam said. 



A CREVASSE. 39 

"We call him 'Mont'rey' after Grandpa's leg, and 
'Bull Run' after Captain Brion's battle." 

After that Mont'rey-Bull-Run was brought 
down stairs and became one of the family. His 
antics kept the whole house in an uproar; even 
Mere, who was afraid of him, could not help laugh- 
ing at him. 

The water by this time was beginning to drain 
slowly away from the plantation ; the tops of the 
little hedges showed first, and then the leaves of 
the violet-beds and finally the yellowed grass. 

One morning when Mammy opened the dining- 
room door she uttered a cry of dismay. The floor 
was strewn with broken dishes, chairs and tables 
were overturned, the doors of the side-board were 
swung open, the lower panes of the long windows 
were smashed. In the midst of the chaos sat 
Mont'rey-Bull-Run digging his paws into a broken 
honey-jar clasped in his arm, and licking them 
with little snorts of delight. Mammy pounced 
upon him with her broom. 

We never saw Mont'rey-Bull-Run again. * 

(By permission of Major Thomas E. Davis and Lothrop, 
Lee & Shepherd Co.) 



(4) 



WILLIAM BARRETT TRAVIS. 

William Barrett Travis was born in Conecuh County, 
Alabama, in 1811. He practiced law for a short time, but 
poverty sooin led him, in the hope of better opportunities, 
to move to Texas. His courageous death there, March 6, 
1836, has made his name synonymous with bravery through- 
out the world. 

Before the Texas War of Independence the Mexicans 
had converted the old mission station near San Antonio 
into a fortress and had named it Fort Alamo. Shortly 
after the beginning of hostilities Travis, with one hun- 
dred and forty men, was sent to defend the Alamo. It 
was besieged by Santa Anna and his army of four thou- 
sand troops. For ten days the Texans repelled every at- 
tack, until, worn down to a handful, the Mexicans entered 
the fort, and in a hand-to-hand- combat thinned down the 
ranks of the defenders until but six remained, and among 
these immortal six were Travis, Crockett and Bowie„ 
Santa Anna's blood thirst was not satisfied till these too 
were cut to pieces. 

The heroism of these men has often been described, but 
never so perfectly and so briefly as in the familiar sentence, 
"Thermopylas had its messenger of defeat, the Alamo had 
none." 



A LETTER FROM THE ALAMO. 

COMMANDANCY OF THE ALAMO, 

Bejar, February 24th, 1836. 

To the People of Texas and all Americans in the 
World: 
Fellow-Citizens and Compatriots — I am be- 
sieged by a thousand or more of the Mexicans 
under Santa Anna. I have sustained a continual 



A LETTER FROM THE ALAMO, 41 

bombardment and cannonade for twenty-four 
hours, and have not lost a man. The enemy has 
demanded a surrender at discretion, otherwise the 
garrison are to be put to the sword, if the fort is 
taken. I have answered the demand with a can- 
non shot, and our flag still waves proudly from 
the walls. I shall never surrender or retreat. 
Then, I call on you in the name of Liberty, of pa- 
triotism and everything dear to the American 
character, to come to our aid with all dispatch. 
The enemy is receiving reinforcements daily, and 
no doubt will increase to three or four thousand 
in four or five days. If this call is neglected I am 
determined to sustain myself as long as possible 
and die like a soldier who never forgets what is 
due to his own honor and that of his country. 
Victory or death! 

William Barrett Travis, 

Lt. Col. Comdt. 

P. S. — The Lord is on our side. When the en- 
emy appeared in sight we had not three bushels 
of corn. We have since found in deserted houses 
eighty or ninety, and got into the walls twenty or 
thirty head of beeves. Travis. 



JAMES TINKER SMITH. 

James Tinker Smith was born in St. Mary's Parish, 
Louisiana, in 1816. He was left an orphan in his early boy- 
hood. He was sent by his guardians to Scotland, where he 
was graduated from the University of Edinburgh. He re- 
turned to Louisiana to manage his large plantations. 

He published a collection of his own poems together 
with a translation of the Meditations of Lamartine. He 
died at Franklin, La., August 10, 1854. 



THE MOTHER'S SONG. 

What is sweeter than the song, 

When the lark to heaven doth soar? 
What is sweeter than night's rest, 

When the work of day is o'er ? 
What sweeter than the sound 

Of the small waves on the shore ? 
'Tis the sound of little feet. 

As they patter on the floor. 

What is softer than the down 

Which the pretty ducklings seek, 
As they crowd the parent round 

In the pool or in the creek? 
What is sweeter than the words 

Which the dearest friends may speak? 
It is little baby's kiss, 

When he kisses mother's cheek. 



THE MOTHER'S SONG, 43 

What is lovelier than the rose, 

As it blushes on the stalk ? 
What is sweeter in the garden 

Than the merry mocker's mock? 
It is to hear the prattle 

Of the little baby's talk, 
And to see the tiny footprints 

When he toddles o'er the walk. 

There is music in the voice 

Of the bird upon the tree. 
There is music in the wings 

Of the little summer bee ; 
But not a chord in nature's harp. 

Though sweetly strung it be. 
Has half the music in it 

Of my baby's laugh to me. 

Father of the innocent, 

Look from thy throne on high, 
And shield my little baby 

With the power of thine eye ! 
For often in the dreary night 

I lay me down and cry. 
To think how desolate I'd be 

Should little baby die. 



44 JAMES TINKER SMITH. 



POET'S THOUGIiTS. 

What doth the poet think about? 

Sweet maiden, 'tis a question deep, 
And thou must ask of many a one 

Who night and daily vigils keep ; 
For every poet hath a thought. 
To which all other ones are naught ; 

And yet that cherished thought shall be 

A thing on earth he ne'er shall see. 

What doth the poet think upon ? 

The hope that earth shall ne'er fulfill, 
Amid his cloud-piled thoughts, that run 

Far heavenward, doth he wander still — 
Still in their false, unstable breast. 
In vain his sinking feet seek rest ; 

As one who dream-crazed walks the sea, 

The poet's fevered search shall be. 

What doth the poet think upon ? 

When first life's prospect doth unroll, 
He sees that light-clothed form alone. 

That with fierce gladness clasps his soul ; 
No other thought than that is near. 
To shake his soul with joy or fear; 

That love, which never bliss shall see, 

His first wild fevered love shall be. 

What doth the poet think upon ? 

When that first fevered love is dead, 
The wish, the light of life is gone. 

And desolate he lifts his head. 



POET'S THOUGHTS. 45 

Another love shall fire his heart, 
And teach to dare the patriot's part ; 
Yet curses, chains and calumnie, 
The patriot-poet's dream shall see. 

He turns from earth, and God is sought, 

'Midst all the cabalistic lore, 
That sage and scholiast have brought. 

Ages and ages searching o'er; 
For truth he seeks, and yet can scan 
Nought but the mummeries of man ; 

He seeks for God, and finds at last 

A molten image men have cast. 

His soul is sick — his dreams depart 
To lands that sages never knew ; 

The thought-bulb planted in his heart 
Hath burst the vase in which it grew ; 

His shattered vision streams on high. 

Far, maiden, far beyond the sky ! 
And 'lone by lake, or wood, or sea. 
He dreams of God, and love, and thee. 

Yet deem not horrid all his task. 
Nor all unblest the poet's dream ; 

In sunset beauty doth it bask. 
And oft in morning glory gleam ; 

And for him, ringing in the air. 

Are sounds that mortals never hear ; 
Then give me, with its blasting fire. 
The poet's curse — the poet's lyre! 



ALEXANDER WALKER. 

This distinguished journalist was born in Fredericks- 
burg, Va., October 13, 1819. He enjoyed the benefits of an 
exceptionally good education and soon displayed literary 
tastes and ambitions. He moved to New Orleans in 1840, 
where his preference for a career of letters caused him to 
abandon the practice of law and give himself entirely to 
the profession of his choice. He became editor, at various 
times, of the Jeffersonian, Delta, Times, Herald, and Pica- 
yune, all of New Orleans, and of the Cincinnati Enquirer, 

Among his best received works were Jackson and New 
Orleans; Life of Andrew Jackson, and Butler at New Or- 
leans. The simplicity, naturalness and animation of his 
style all combine to make his books delightful reading. 



LAFITTE 'THE PIRATE" 

FROM 

JACKSON AND NEW ORLEANS 

About one mile above New Orleans, opposite 
the flourishing City of Jefferson, and on the right 
bank of the Mississippi, there is a small canal, 
now used by fishermen and hunters, which ap- 
proaches within a few hundred yards of the 
river's bank. 

The small craft that ply on this canal are 
taken up on cars, which run into the water by 
an inclined plane, and are then hauled by mules 
to the river. Launched upon the rapid current 
of the Mississippi, these boats are soon borne into 
the Crescent port of New Orleans. Following this 
canal, which runs nearly due west for five or six 
miles, we reach a deep, narrow and tortuous bayou. 



LAFITTE "THE PIRATE." 47 

Descending this bayou, which for forty miles 
threads its sluggish course through an impenetra- 
ble swamp, we pass into a large lake girt with 
sombre forests and gloomy swamps, and resonant 
with the hoarse croakings of alligators and the 
screams of swamp fowls. 

From this lake, by a still larger bayou, we pass 
into another lake, and from that to another, until 
we reach an island, on which are discernible, at 
a considerable distance, several elevated knolls, 
and where a scant vegetation and a few trees 
maintain a feeble existence. At the lower end of 
this island there are some curious high mounds of 
shells, which are thought to mark the burial of 
some extinct tribes. This surmise has been con- 
firmed by the discovery of human bones below the 
surface of these mounds. The elevation formed 
by the series of mounds is known as the Temple, 
from a tradition that the Natchez Indians used 
to assemble there to offer sacrifices to their chief 
deity, the ''Great Sun." This lake or bayou finally 
empties into the Gulf of Mexico by two outlets 
between which lies the beautiful island of Grand 
Terre. 

This island is now occupied and cultivated 
by a Creole family as a sugar plantation, pro- 
ducing annually four or five hundred hogsheads 
of sugar. At the western extremity of the island 
stands a large and powerful fortification^ which 
has been quite recently erected by the United 
States, and named after one of the most dis- 
tinguished benefactors of Louisiana, Edward Liv- 
ingston. This fort commands the western en- 
trance or strait leading from the Gulf into the 



48 ALEXANDER WALKER. 

lake or bay of Barataria. Here, safely sheltered, 
some two or three miles from the Gulf, is a snug 
little harbor, where vessels drawing from seven 
to eight feet of water may ride in safety, out of 
the reach of the fierce storms that so often sweep 
the Gulf of Mexico. 

Here may be found, even now, the foundations 
of houses, the brickwork of a rude fort, and other 
evidences of an ancient settlement. This is the 
spot which has become so famous in the history 
and romances of the Southwest as the "Pirate's 
Home,'' the retreat of the dread Corsair of the 
Gulf, whom the genius of Byron, and of many 
succeeding poets and novelists, has consecrated 
as one who 

"Left a corsair's name to other times 
Linked with one virtue and a thousand crimes." 

Such is poetry — such is romance. But au- 
thentic history, by which alone these sketches are 
guided, dissipates all these fine flights of the poet 
and romancer. 

Jean Lafitte, the so-called Pirate and Corsair, 
was a blacksmith from Bordeaux, France, who, 
within the recollection of several old citizens now 
living in New Orleans, kept his forge at the cor- 
ner of Bourbon and St. Philip Streets. He had 
an older brother, Pierre, who was a seafaring 
character, and had served in the French navy. 
Neither was a pirate, and Jean knew not enough 
of the art of navigation to manage a jolly boat. 
But he was a man of good address and appear- 
ance, of considerable shrewdness, of generous ancj 
liberal heart and adventurous spirit. 



LAFITTE ''THE PIRATE:' 49 

Shortly after the cession of Louisiana to the 
United States, a series of events occurred which 
made the Gulf of Mexico the arena of the most 
extensive and profitable privateering. First came 
the war between France and Spain which af- 
forded the inhabitants of the French islands a 
good pretence to depredate upon the rich com- 
merce of the Spanish possessions — the most val- 
uable and productive in the New World. The 
Gulf of Mexico and Caribbean Sea swarmed with 
privateers, owned and employed by men of all na- 
tions, who obtained their commissions (by pur^ 
chase) from the French authorities at Martinique 
and Guadalupe. Among these were not a few 
neat and trim crafts belonging to the staid citi- 
zens of New England, who, under the tricolor of 
France, experienced no scruples in perpetrating 
acts which, though not condemned by the laws of 
nations, in their spirit as well as in their practi- 
cal results bear a strong resemblance to piracy. 
The British capture and occupation of Guadalupe 
and Martinique, in 1806, in which expeditions 
Colonel Ed. Pakenham, who will figure conspicu- 
ously in these sketches, distinguished himself and 
received a severe wound, broke up a favorite re- 
treat of these privateers. Shortly after this Co- 
lombia declared her independence of Spain, and 
invited to her port of Carthagena the patriots 
and adventurers of all nations to aid her strug- 
gle against the mother country. Thither flocked 
all the privateers and buccaneers of the Gulf. 
Commissions were promptly given or sold to them 
to sail under the Colombian flag and to prey upon 



50 ALEXANDER WALKER. 

the commerce of poor old Spain, who, invaded and 
despoiled at home, had neither means nor spirit 
to defend her distant possessions. 

The success of the privateers was brilliant. 
It is a narrow line at the best which divides 
piracy from privateering, and it is not at all won- 
derful that the reckless sailors of the Gulf some- 
times lost sight of it. The shipping of other 
countries was, no doubt, frequently mistaken for 
that of Spain. Rapid fortunes were made in this 
business. Capitalists embarked their means in 
equipping vessels for privateering. Of course 
they were not responsible for the excesses which 
were committed by those in their employ, nor did 
they trouble themselves to inquire into all the 
acts of their agents. Finally, however, some at- 
tention was excited by this wholesale system of 
legalized pillage. The privateers found it neces- 
sary to secure some safe harbor, into which they 
could escape from the ships of war, where they 
could be sheltered from the northers, and where, 
too, they could establish a depot for the sale and 
smuggling of their spoils. It was a sagacious 
thought which selected the little bay or cove of 
Grand Terre for this purpose. It was called Ba- 
rataria, and several huts and storehouses were 
built there^ and cannon planted on the beach. 
Here rallied the privateers of the Gulf, with their 
fast-sailing schooners, armed to the teeth and 
manned by fierce-looking men, who wore sharp 
cutlasses, and might be taken anywhere for pi- 
rates, without offence. They were the desperate 
men of all nations, embracing as well those who 



LAFITTE ''THE PIRATE." 51 

had occupied respectable positions in the naval 
or merchant service, who were instigated to their 
present pursuit by the love of gain, as those who 
had figured in the bloody scenes of the buccaneers 
of the Spanish Main. Besides its inaccessibility 
to vessels of war, the Bay of Barataria recom- 
mended itself by another important considera- 
tion : it was near to the City of New Orleans, the 
mart of the growing valley of the Mississippi, 
and from it the lakes and bayous afforded an easy 
water communication, nearly to the banks of the 
Mississippi, within a short distance of the city. 
A regular organization of the privateers was es- 
tablished, officers were chosen, and agents ap- 
pointed in New Orleans to enlist men and nego- 
tiate the sale of goods. 

Among the most active and sagacious of these 
town agents was the blacksmith of St. Philip 
Street, who, following the example of much 
greater and more pretentious men, abandoned his 
sledge and anvil, and embarked in the lawless 
and more adventurous career of smuggling and 
privateering. Gradually, by his success, enter- 
prise and address, Jean Lafitte obtained such 
ascendency over the lawless congregation at Ba- 
rataria that they elected him their captain or 
commander. 

There is a tradition that this choice gave dis- 
satisfaction to some of the more warlike of the 
privateers, and particularly to Gambio, a savage, 
grim Italian, who did not scruple to prefer the 
title and character of *Tirate" to the puling, hy- 
pocritical one of "Privateer." But it is said, and 



52 ALEXANDER WALKER. 

the story is verified by an aged Italian, one of 
the only two survivors of the Baratarians, now 
resident in Grand Terre, who rejoices in the 
''nickname," indicative of a ghastly sabre cut 
across the face, of "Cut Nose," that Lafitte found 
it necessary to sustain his authority by some ter- 
rible example, and when one of Gambio's follow- 
ers resisted his orders he shot him through the 
heart before the whole band. Whether this story 
be true or not, there can be no doubt that in the 
year 1813, when the association had attained its 
greatest prosperity, Lafitte held undisputed au- 
thority and control over it. He certainly con- 
ducted his administration with energy and abil- 
ity. A large fleet of small vessels rode in the 
harbor, besides others that were cruising. Their 
storehouses were filled with valuable goods. 
Hither resorted merchants and traders from all 
parts of the country to purchase goods, which, 
being cheaply obtained, could be retailed at a 
large profit. A small number of vessels were 
employed in transporting goods to New Orleans, 
through the bayou we have described, just as 
oysters, fish and game are now brought. 

On reaching the head of the bayou, these 
goods would be taken out of the boats and placed 
on the backs of mules, to be carried to the river 
bank, whence they would be ferried across into 
the city at night. In the city they had many 
agents who disposed of these goods. 

In July, 1814, the grand jury of New Orleans 
made a terrible exposure of the audacity and 
extent of these unlawful transactions. The re- 



LAFITTE ''THE PIRATED 53 

port concludes with a severe reproof of the ex- 
ecutive of the State, and of the United States, for 
neglecting the proper measures to suppress these 
evil practices. 

The tenor of this presentment leads to the 
belief that the word ''piracy," as used by the 
grand jury, was intended to include only the more 
common offences of fitting out privateers within 
the United States to operate against the ships of 
nations with which they were at peace, and that 
of smuggling. 

Pierre Lafitte was arrested on these indict- 
ments. An application for bail was refused, and 
he was incarcerated in the calaboose^ or cit^r 
prison, now occupied by the Sixth District Court 
of New Orleans. 

These transactions betokening a vigorous de- 
termination on the part of the authorities to 
break up the establishment at Barataria, Jean 
Lafitte proceeded to that place, and was engaged 
in collecting the vessels and property of the as- 
sociation, with a view of departing to some more 
secure retreat, when an event occurred which he 
thought would afford him an opportunity of pro- 
pitiating the favor of the government and secur- 
ing for himself and his companions a pardon for 
their offences. 

It was on the morning of the second of Sep- 
tember, 1814, that the settlement of Barataria 
was aroused by the report of cannon in the di- 
rection of the Gulf. Lafitte immediately ordered 
out a small boat, in which, rowed by four of his 
men, he proceeded toward the mouth of the 
strait. Here he perceived a brig of war, lying 



54 ALEXANDER WALKER. 

just outside of the inlet, with the British colors 
flying at the masthead. As soon as Lafitte's boat 
was perceived, the gig of the brig shot off from 
her side and approached him. 

In this gig were three officers, clad in naval 
uniform, and one in the scarlet of the British 
army. They bore a white signal in the bows and 
a British flag in the stern of their boat. The offi- 
cers proved to be Captain Lockyer, of his Maj- 
esty's navy, with a lieutenant of the same serv- 
ice, and Captain McWilliams, of the army. On 
approaching the boat of the Baratarians, Cap- 
tain Lockyer called out his name and style, and 
inquired if Mr. Lafltte was at home in the bay, 
as he had an important communication for him. 
Lafltte replied that the person they desired could 
be seen ashore, and invited the officers to accom- 
pany him to their settlement. They accepted the 
invitation, and the boats were rowed through the 
strait into the Bay of Barataria. On their way 
Lafltte confessed his true name and character, 
whereupon Captain Lockyer delivered to him a 
paper package. Lafltte enjoined upon the British 
officers to conceal the true object of their visit 
from his men, who might, if they suspected their 
design, attempt some violence against them. De- 
spite these cautions, the Baratarians, on recog- 
nizing the uniform of the strangers, collected on 
the shore in a tumultuous and threatening man- 
ner, and clamored loudly for their arrest. It re- 
quired all Lafltte's art, address and influence to 
calm them. Finally, however, he succeeded in 
conducting the British to his apartments, where 



LAFITTE ''THE PIRATED 55 

they were entertained in a style of elegant hos- 
pitality, which greatly surprised them. 

The best wines of old Spain, the richest fruits 
of the West Indies, and every variety of fish and 
game were spread out before them, and served on 
the richest carved silver plate. The affable man- 
ner of Lafitte gave great zest to the enjoyment 
of his guests. After the repast, and when they 
had all smoked cigars of the finest Cuban flavor, 
Lafitte requested his guests to proceed to busi- 
ness. The package directed to "Mr. Lafitte" was 
then opened and the contents read. They con- 
sisted of a proclamation and several letters. 

The originals of these letters may now be 
seen in the records of the United States District 
Court in New Orleans, where they were filed by 
Lafitte. They contain the most flattering offers 
to Lafitte, on the part of the British officials, if 
he would aid them, with his vessels and men in 
their contemplated invasion of the State of 
Louisiana. Captain Lockyer proceeded to en- 
force the offers by many arguments. He stated 
that Lafitte, his vessels and men, would be en- 
listed in the honorable service of the British 
navy; that he would receive the rank of captain 
(an offer which must have brought a smile to 
the face of the unnautical blacksmith of St. Philip 
Street) , and the sum of thirty thousand dollars ; 
that, being a Fenchman, proscribed and perse- 
cuted by the United States, with a brother then 
in prison, he should unite with the English, as 
the English and French were now fast friends; 
that a splendid prospect was now opened to him 

(5) 



56 ALEXANDER WALKER. 

in the British navy, as from his knowledge of the 
Gulf coast he could guide them in their expedi- 
tion to New Orleans, which had already started; 
that it was the purpose of the English government 
to penetrate the upper country and act in con- 
cert with the forces in Canada; that everything 
was prepared to carry on the war with unusual 
vigor; that they were sure of success, expecting 
to find little or no opposition from the French 
and Spanish population of Louisiana, whose in- 
terests and manners were opposed and hostile 
to those of the Americans; and, finally, it was 
declared by Captain Lockyer to be the purpose 
of the British to free the slaves and arm them 
against the white people who resisted their au- 
thority and progress. 

Lafitte, affecting an acquiescence in these 
propositions, begged to be permitted to go to one 
of the vessels lying out in the bay to consult an 
old friend and associate in whose judgment he 
had great confidence. Whilst he was absent the 
men, who had watched suspiciously the confer- 
ence, many of whom were Americans, and not 
the less patriotic because they had a taste for 
privateering, proceeded to arrest the British offi- 
cers, threatening to kill or deliver them up to the 
Americans. In the midst of this clamor and vio- 
lence, Lafitte returned and immediately quieted 
his men by reminding them of the laws of honor 
and humanity, which forbade any violence to per- 
sons who come among them with a flag of truce. 
He assured them that their honor and rights 
would be safe and sacred in his charge. He then 



LAFITTE ''THE PIRATED 57 

escorted the British to their boats, and, after de- 
claring to Captain Lockyer that he only required 
a few days to consider the flattering proposals, 
and would be ready at a certain time to deliver 
his final reply, took a respectful leave of his 
guests, and, escorting them to their boat, kept 
them in view until they were out of reach of the 
men on shore. 

Lafitte affected an acquiescence in these prop- 
ositions. But immediately after the departure of 
the British he sat down and addressed a long let- 
ter to Mr. Blanque, a member of the House of 
Representatives of Louisiana, which he com- 
menced by declaring that, "though proscribed in 
my adopted country, I will never miss an occa- 
sion of serving her, or of proving that she has 
never ceased to be dear to me." He then details 
the circumstances of Captain Lockyer's arrival in 
his camp, and encloses the letters to him. He then 
proceeds to say: "I may have evaded the pay- 
ment of duties to the custom-house, but I have 
never ceased to be a good citizen, and all the of- 
fences I have committed have been forced upon 
me by certain vices in the laws.'' He then ex- 
presses the hope that the service he is enabled 
to render the authorities by delivering the en- 
closed letters "may obtain some amelioration of 
the situation of an unhappy brother,'' adding 
with considerable force and feeling: "Our ene- 
mies have endeavored to work upon me, by a mo- 
tive which few men would have resisted. They 
represented to me a brother in irons, a brother 
who is to me very dear, whose deliverer I might 



58 ALEXANDER WALKER. 

become, and I declined the proposal, well per- 
suaded of his innocence. I am free from fear 
as to the issue of a trial, but he is sick and not in 
a place where he can receive the assistance he 
requires.'* Through Mr. Blanque^ Lafitte ad- 
dressed a letter to Governor Claiborne, in which 
he stated very distinctly his position and desires. 

Upon the receipt of these letters, Governor 
Claiborne convoked a council of the principal 
officers of the army, navy and militia then in 
New Orleans, to whom he submitted the letters. 

The only result of this council was to hasten 
the steps, which had been previously commenced, 
to fit out an expedition to Barataria to break up 
Lafitte's establishment. In the meantime, the 
two weeks asked for by Lafitte to consider the 
British proposal having expired, Captain Lockyer 
appeared off Grand Terre, and hovered around 
the inlet several days, anxiously awaiting the ap- 
proach of Lafitte. At last, his patience being ex- 
hausted, and mistrusting the intentions of the 
Baratarians, he retired. It was about this time 
that the spirit of Lafitte was sorely tried by the 
intelligence that the constituted authorities, whom 
he had supplied with such valuable information, 
instead of appreciating his generous exertions in 
behalf of his country, were actually equipping an 
expedition to destroy his establishment. This 
was truly an ungrateful return for services which 
may now be justly estimated. Nor is it satisfac- 
torily shown that mercenary motives did not min- 
gle with those which prompted some of the par- 
ties engaged in this expedition. 



LAFITTE ''THE PIRATE." 59 

The rich plunder of the "Pirate's Retreat," 
the valuable fleet of small coasting vessels that 
rode in the Bay of Barataria, the exaggerated 
stories of a vast amount of treasure, heaped up 
in glittering piles, in dark, mysterious caves, of 
chests of Spanish doubloons, buried in the sand, 
contributed to inflame the imagination and 
avarice of some of the individuals who were active 
in getting up this expedition. 

A naval and land force was organized under 
Commodore Paterson and Colonel Ross, which 
proceeded to Barataria, and with a pompous dis- 
play of military power entered the Bay. The Ba- 
ratarians at first thought of resisting with all 
their means, which were considerable. They col- 
lected on the beach, armed; their cannon were 
placed in position, and matches were lighted; 
when, lo! to their amazement and dismay, the 
Stars and Stripes became visible through the mist. 

Against the power which that banner pro- 
claimed they were unwilling to lift their hands. 
They then surrendered, a few escaping up the 
bayou in small boats. Lafitte, conformably to 
his pledge, on hearing of the expedition, had gone 
to the German Coast — as it is called — above New 
Orleans. Commodore Paterson seized all the 
vessels of the Baratarians, and, filling them and 
his own with the rich goods found on the island, 
returned to New Orleans loaded with spoils. The 
Bartarians who were captured were ironed and 
committed to the calaboose. The vessels, money 
and stores taken in this expedition were claimed 
as lawful prizes of Commodore Paterson and 



60 ALEXANDER WALKER. 

Colonel Ross. Out of this claim grew a pro- 
tracted suit, which elicited the foregoing facts, 
and resulted in establishing the innocence of La- 
fitte of all other offences but those of privateer- 
ing, or employing persons to privateer against 
the commerce of Spain under commissions from 
the Republic of Colombia, and bringing his 
prizes to the United States, to be disposed of, 
contrary to the provisions of the neutrality act. 
The charge of piracy against Lafitte, or even 
against the men of the association of which he 
was the chief, remains to this day unsupported 
by a single particle of direct and positive testi- 
mony. 

(By permission of Norman McF. Walker.) 




MTY TOfelC| 



MARY ASHLEY TOWNSEND. 

Mary Ashley (Van Voorhis) Townsend was born in 
Lyons, N. Y., in 1836, was married in 1856 to Gideon Town- 
send, and moved to New Orleans, which city she made her 
home until her death. When the Cotton States Exposition 
was opened in New Orleans she was selected to deliver the 
dedication poem. Her first literary eflPort was the prose 
story Brother Clerks; A Tale of New Orleans. This was 
followed by Down the Bayou and Other Poems, and Distaff 
and Spindle. The latter contains nearly seventy sonnets 
and includes the best of her poetry. Mrs. Townsend is a 
striking instance of the unfortunate and unjust conditions 
that have, until recently, denied Southern writers their 
proper position in the world of letters. Her poetry, written 
in a Northern community, would have won for her the ac- 
knowledged rank of one of the foremost of American 
poetesses. 



DOWN THE BAYOU. 

We DRIFTED down the long lagoon, 
My Love, my Summer Love and I, 
Far out of sight of all the town, 
The old Cathedral sinking down, 
With spire and cross, from view below 
The borders of St. John's bayou. 
As toward the ancient Spanish Fort, 
With steady prow and helm a-port, 
We drifted down, my Love and I, 
Beneath an azure April sky, 
My Love and I, my Love and I, 
Just at the hour of noon. 



62 MARY ASHLEY TOWNSEND. 

We drifted down, and drifted down, 
My Love, my Summer Love and I, 
Beyond the Creole part of town; 
Its red-tiled roofs, its stucco walls ; 
Its belfries, with their sweet bell-calls ; 
The Bishop's Palace, which enshrines 
Such memories of the Ursulines ; 
Past balconies where maidens dreamed 
Behind the shelter of cool vines ; 
Past open doors where parrots screamed ; 
Past courts where mingled shade and glare 
Fell through pomegranate boughs, to where 
The turbaned negress, drowsy grown, 
Sat nodding in her ample chair; 
Beyond the joyance and the stress. 
Beyond the greater and the less, 
Beyond the tiresome noonday town. 
The parish prison's cupolas. 
The bridges, with their creaking draws. 
And many a convent's frown, — 
We drifted on, my Love and I, 
Beneath the semi-tropic sky. 
While the clock-towers in the town 
Spake the meridian bells that said, — 

'Twas morn — 'tis noon — 

Time flies — and soon 

Night follows noon. 

Prepare ! Beware ! 

Take care ! Take care ! 

For soon — so soon — 

Night follows noon, — 

Dark night the noon, — 

Noon ! noon ! noon ! noon ! 



DOWN THE BAYOU. 63 

To right, to left the tiller turned, 

In all its gaud, our painted prow. 

Bend after bend our light keel spurned. 

For sinuously the bayou's low 

Dark waters 'neath the sunshine burned. 

There, in that smiling southern noon. 

As if some giant serpent wound 

Along the lush and mellow ground 

To mark the path we chose to go ; 

When, in sweet hours remembered now, 

The long lagoon we drifted down; 

My Love, my Summer Love and I, 

Far out of reach of all the town. 

Beyond the Ridge of Metairie, 

And all its marble villages 

Thronged with their hosts of Deaf and Dumb, 

Who, to the feet of Death have come 

And laid their earthly burdens down ! 

The wind was blowing from the south 

When we had reached the bayou's mouth, l|j 

It laden came with rare perfumes, — 

With spice of bays and orange blooms, 

And mossy odors from the glooms ! 

Of cypress swamps. Now and again. 

Upon the fair Lake Pontchartrain, 

White sails went nodding to the main ; 

And round about the painted hulls 

Darted the sailing, swooping gulls. 

Wailing and shrieking, as they flew 

Unrestingly 'twixt blue and blue. 

Like ghosts of drowned mariners 

Rising from deep sea sepulchres. 

To warn, with weird and woeful lips. 



64 MARY ASHLEY TOWN SEND. 

Who go down to the sea in ships. 

We moored our boat beside the moat 

Beneath the old Fort's crumbling wall. 

No sudden drum gave warning sharp, 

No martial order manned the Fort, 

No watchful step the bastion smote. 

No challenge from a sentry's throat 

Sent down to us its questioning call. 

No gleam of bayonet met the eye. 

No banner broadened 'gainst the sky. 

No clash of grounded arms was heard. 

No ringing cheer, no murmured word. 

No feet of armies marching by. 

From moat and scarp and counterscarp. 

From parapet to sally-port. 

All lay untenanted and mute. 

One grim, invisible sentinel. 

Silence, gave to us sad salute. 

Then died, as there our footsteps fell. 

We climbed the ramparts, hand in hand. 
There had the dumb, industrious moss 
Woven its tapestries across 
The ancient brickwork, with a touch 
Like Love, which, loving, giveth much. 
There, undisturbed, the lichen's slow. 
Gray finger all the walls along 
Had writ, in untranslated song. 
Its history of the fair, low land. 
Its courtly dames, its maidens fair. 
Its men, brave, proud and debonair, 
Its romance and its chivalry. 
As known a hundred years ago. 



DOWN THE BAYOU. 65 

Softly the fragrant southern breeze 
From o'er the Mexic Gulf blew on, 
Stirring the blossomed orange-trees, 
And leafless groves of the pecan. 
O'er crumbling paths we laughing went. 
My Love, my Summer Love and I, 
Or o'er the hidden trenches bent. 
And lingered with a vague content 
On bastion and on battlement. 

There were the cannon, blear and black, 

Directed toward no f oeman's track ; 

Swart battle's puny infants swung 

In the rude cradle of a time 

When dreams were dwarfs, invention young. 

And science, with its white, sublime. 

Eternal face, yet scarcely free 

From swaddles of its infancy. 

With deep throats void of e'en a threat. 

Prone on the grass-grown parapet 

In mute impotency they lay. 

Up to the rigid mouth of one 

A clambering rose its way had spun : 

Freighting the air with sweet increase 

Of fragrance, lavished near and far, 

It clung there, like a kiss of Peace 

On the barbaric lips of War. 

With reverent hands we touched the strange, 

Mute relics, that so sternly spake 

Of strides that make the nations quake 

With awe before the march of change. 

To what might be, from what had been. 

Our thoughts o'er luminous courses swept. 

Till every boundary they o'erleapt 



66 MARY ASHLEY TOWNSEND. 

That marks the untried and unseen. 

Then Doubt from her chill cloisters crept, 

Surrendering unto Progress there 

The rusting keys of all the realms 

Dominioned by the dwarf, Despair ; 

And, wondering, conquered, awed, and dumb. 

She gazed toward the Yet to Come. 

Like one some gladness overwhelms. 
Till, in the joy with which 'tis rife, 
Is drowned all dread of chancing grief, 
I laughed, I dreamed, that sunny day. 
And bound in one full fragrant sheaf 
The goldenest harvests of my life. 

(By Permission of Lewis H. Stanton.) 



WILLIAM WIRT. 

William Wirt achieved distinction as a lawyer, orator, 
statesman, and author. He was born in Bladensburg, Md., 
November 8, 1774. He was well educated and in later 
years became more vtddely read than perhaps any other 
man of this country. He moved to Virginia to practice 
law, became Legislator, Judge, United States Attorney and, 
in 1817, Attorney General of the United States, and held 
this position for twelve years. 

Some of his works were Addresses; Rainbow; Letters 
of the British Spy, and Life of Patrick Henry. So great 
is the charm of this last work that, although written a 
hundred years ago, it still retains an unusual popularity. 

He died in Washington, D. C, February 18, 1834. 



MR. HENRY AGAINST JOHN HOOK. 

FROM 

LIFE OF PATRICK HENRY. 

Hook was a Scotchman, a man of wealth, and 
suspected of being unfriendly to the American 
cause. During the distresses of the American 
army, consequent upon the joint invasion of Corn- 
wallis and Phillips in 1781, a Mr. Venable, an 
army commissary, had taken two of Hookas steers 
for the use of the troops. The act had not been 
strictly legal; and on the establishment of peace, 
Hook, under the advice of Mr. Cowan, a gentle- 
man of some distinction in the law, thought 
proper to bring an action of trespass against Mr. 
Venable in the district court of New London. 
Mr. Henry appeared for the defendant, and is 



68 WILLIAM WIRT, 

said to have disported himself in this cause to 
the infinite enjoyment of his hearers, the unfor- 
tunate Hook always excepted. After Mr. Henry 
became animated in the cause, says a correspond- 
ent (Judge Stuart), he appeared to have com- 
plete control over the passions of his audience ; at 
one time he excited their indignation against 
Hook; vengeance was visible in every counten- 
ance; again, when he chose to relax and ridicule 
him, the whole audience was in a roar of laughter. 
He painted the distresses of the American army, 
exposed almost naked to the rigour of a winter's 
sky, and marking the frozen ground over which 
they marched with the blood of their unshod 
feet — "where was the man," he said, "who had 
an American heart in his bosom who would not 
have thrown open his fields, his barns, his cellar, 
the doors of his house, the portals of his breast 
to have received with open arms the meanest 
soldier in that little band of patriots? Where 
is the man? There he stands; but, whether the 
heart of an American beats in his bosom, you, 
gentlemen, are to judge." He then carried the 
jury, by the powers of his imagination, to the 
plains around York, the surrender of which had 
followed shortly after the act complained of; he 
depicted the surrender in the most glowing and 
noble colors of his eloquence — the audience saw 
before their eyes the humiliation and dejection 
of the British, as they marched out of their 
trenches ; they saw the triumph which lighted up 
every patriot face, and heard the shouts of victory 
and the cry of "Washington and Liberty!" as it 
rang and echoed through the American ranks, 
and was reverberated from the hills and shores 



LIFE OF PATRICK HENRY. 69 

of the neighboring river — ''but, hark! what 
notes of discord are these which disturb the gen- 
eral joy, and silence the acclamations of victory? 
They are the notes of John Hook, hoarsely bawl- 
ing through the American camp, beef! beef! 
beef!" 

The whole audience was convulsed : a par- 
ticular incident will give a better idea of the 
effect than any general description. The clerk 
of the court, unable to command himself, and un- 
willing to commit any breach of decorum in his 
place, rushed out of the courthouse, and threw 
himself on the grass, in the most violent paroxysm 
of laughter, where he was rolling when Hook,with 
very different feelings, came out for relief into 
the yard also. ''Jimmy Steptoe," said he to the 
clerk, "what ails you, man?" Mr. Steptoe was 
only able to say that he could not help it. "Never 
you mind," said Hook, "wait till Billy Cowan gets 
up; he'll show him the law." Mr. Cowan, how- 
ever, was so completely overwhelmed by the tor- 
rent which bore upon his client that when he rose 
to reply to Mr. Henry he was scarcely able to 
make an intelligible or audible remark. The 
cause was decided almost by acclamation. The 
jury retired for form's sake, and instantly re- 
turned with a verdict for the defendant. Nor 
did the effect of Mr. Henry's speech stop here. 
The people were so highly excited by the Tory 
audacity of such a suit that Hook began to hear 
around him a cry more terrible than that of beef ; 
it was the cry of tar and feathers; from the ap- 
plication of which, it is said, that nothing saved 
him but a precipitate flight and the speed of his 
horse. 



EDWARD COATE PINKNEY. 

Edward Coate Pinkney was born in England while 
his father was in that country as Commissioner for the 
United States. He remained in England for nine years, 
then came to Maryland, the home of his parents. He com- 
pleted his education in Baltimore, entered the Navy and 
served for eight years, returned to Baltimore, practiced 
law, edited the Marylander, and was Professor of Rhetoric 
in the University of Maryland. He died April 11, 1828. 
He was the author of a collection of poems. 



A HEALTH. 

I FILL this cup to one made up 

Of loveliness alone : 
A woman, of her gentle sex 

The seeming paragon ; 
To whom the better elements 

And kindly stars have given 
A form so fair that, like the air, 

'Tis less of earth than heaven. 

Her every tone is music's own. 

Like those of morning birds. 
And something more than melody 

Dwells ever in her words ; 
The coinage of her heart are they, 

And from her lips each flows 
As one may see the burthened bee 

Forth issue from the rose. 

Of her bright face one glance will trace 
A picture on the brain, 



A HEALTH. 71 

And of her voice in echoing hearts 

A sound must long remain ; 
But memory such as mine of her 

So very much endears, 
When death is nigh my latest sigh 

Will not be life's, but hers. 

I fill this cup to one made up 

Of loveliness alone : 
A woman, of her gentle sex 

The seeming paragon — 
Her health ! and would on earth there stood 

Some more of such a frame, 
That life might be all poetry, 

And weariness a name. 

SONG. 

We break the glass, whose sacred wine 

To some beloved health we drain. 
Lest future pledges, less divine, 

Should e'er the hallowed toy profane ; 
And thus I broke a heart, that poured 

Its tide of feelings out for thee. 
In draughts, by after-times deplored. 

Yet dear to memory. 

But still the old empassioned ways 

And habits of my mind remain. 
And still unhappy light displays 

Thine image chambered in my brain, 
And still it looks as when the hours 

Went by like flights of singing birds, 
Or that soft chain of spoken flowers 

And airy gems, thy words. 

(6) 



THOMAS JEFFERSON GREEN. 

r 

Though more distinguished as a soldier than as an 
author, Thomas Jefferson Green has written an account of 
the chief event in his life, The Mier Expedition, in a style 
simple, vivid and graphic, that makes his book more read- 
able than many a more polished one. 

He was born in Warren County, North Carolina, in 
1801, and died there December 13, 1863. He went to Texas 
at the time of her struggle for independence, and, entering 
into that conflict, was promoted to be brigadier general of 
volunteers. In 1843, defying the authority of his superior 
officer, General Summerville, he attacked the town of Mier. 
He was defeated and, together with one hundred and 
ninety-three of his men, was taken, prisoner, to the town 
01 Salado. Shortly after their arrival each tenth man 
was, by the order of Santa Anna, shot to death. On Sep- 
tember 16, 1844, Green and the others that had survived 
the horrors of the imprisonment were released. He re- 
turned to Texas, moved from there to California, and later 
back to the State of his birth. He served in the Confed- 
erate Army during the early campaigns in Virginia, but, 
broken in health, returned to his home to die before the 
war was over. 



TEXAS PATRIOTS PRISONERS IN MEXICO. 

FROM 
THE MIER EXPEDITION. 

Soon after they arrived, our men received the 
melancholy intelligence that they were to be deci- 
mated, and each tenth man shot. 



THE MIER EXPEDITION. 73 

It was now too late to resist this horrible 
order. Our men were closely ironed and drawn 
up in front of all their guards, who were in readi- 
ness to fire. Could they have known it previous- 
ly they would have again charged their guards, 
and made them pay dearly for the last breach of 
faith. It was now too late ! A manly gloom and 
a proud defiance filled all faces. They had but 
one resort, and that was to invoke their country's 
vengeance upon their murderers, consign their 
souls to God, and die like men. 

The decimator. Colonel Domingo Huerta, who 
was especially nominated to this black deed, had 
arrived at Salado ahead of our men. The "Red- 
cap" company were to be the executioners ; those 
men whose lives had been so humanely spared by 
our men at this place on the 11th of February. 

The decimation took place by the drawing of 
black and white beans from a small earthen mug. 
The white ones signified life and the black death. 
One hundred and fifty-nine white beans were 
placed in the bottom of the mug with seventeen 
black ones upon the top of them. The beans were 
not stirred, and had so slight a shake that it was 
perfectly clear that they had not been mixed to- 
gether. Such was their anxiety to execute Cap- 
tain Cameron, and perhaps the balance of the 
officers, that first Cameron, and afterward the 
other officers, were made to draw a bean each 
from the mug in this condition. 

Cameron said, with his usual coolness : "Well, 
boys, we have to draw ; let's be at it." So saying, 
he thrust his hand into the mug and drew out a 
white bean. Next came Colonel Wilson, who was 



74 THOMAS JEFFERSON GREEN. 

chained to him; then Captain Ryan, and then 
Judge Gibson, all of whom drew white beans. 
Next came Captain Eastland, who drew the first 
black one, and then came the balance of the men. 
The knocking off the irons from the unfortunates 
alone told who they were. 

They all drew their beans with that manly dig- 
nity and firmness which showed them superior to 
their condition. None showed change of coun- 
tenance; and as the black beans failed to depress 
so did the white beans fail to elate. Some of 
lighter temper jested over the tragedy. One 
would say : "Boys, this beats raffling all to pieces ;" 
another would say: 'This is the tallest gambling 
scrape I ever was in." 

Major Cocke, when he first drew the fats^l 
bean, held it up before his forefinger and thumb, 
and with a smile of contempt said: "Boys, I told 
you so ; I never failed in my life to draw a prize." 

Soon after, the fated men were placed in a 
separate courtyard, where about dark they were 
executed. Several of our men were permitted to 
visit the unfortunates to receive their dying re- 
quests. 

Just previous to the firing they were bound 
together with cords, and their eyes being ban- 
daged they were set upon a log near the wall with 
their backs to the executioners. They all begged 
the officer to shoot them in front and at a short 
distance. This he refused ; and, to make his cru- 
elty as refined as possible, he fired at several paces. 

During the martyrdom of these patriots the 
main body of our men were separated from them 
by a stone wall some fifteen feet high. The next 



THE MIER EXPEDITION, 75 

morning, as they marched on the road to Mexico, 
they passed the bodies of their dead comrades, 
whose bones now lie upon the plains of Salado, a 
perishing remembrance of exalted patriotism. 

Upon our arrival at the village of Perote, in 
looking north about one mile we could see the 
massive walls of the castle, with its numerous 
port-holes and dark-mouthed artillery. Upon 
nearer approach, in making our way through its 
winding entrance and across the drawbridge over 
the great moat, the din of arms and the clank of 
chains opened our eyes to the reality of imprison- 
ment. 

There is a mockery in many things in Mexico, 
and now there was a mock mercy by way of three 
days' grace extended to us before our chains were 
riveted. During these three days we had the 
privilege of walking about in certain parts of the 
castle in the daytime, estimating its capacity, mil- 
itary strength, etc. 

At 9 o'clock on the fourth day after our con- 
finement the Mier men were ordered to stand 
aside to receive their chains, a full ton of which 
had been brought out and laid in a heap, with a 
corresponding quantity of cumbrous, rudely made 
clevises to fit around the ankles. Here stood the 
fat old officer in charge, a Captain Gozeman. He 
desired Fisher and me to make choice of our chain. 
In fact, there was no choice between them, the 
lightest weighing twenty pounds; and, even if 
there had been any difference, neither of us was 
in the temper to make the choice. We held forth 
our feet, the one a right and the other a left foot, 
and the son of Vulcan riveted us together as 



76 THOMAS JEFFERSON GREEN, 

though we had been a pair of unbroken oxen just 
being introduced to the yoke. 

Colonel Fisher and I being first ironed, laughed 
at the ''jewelry," as the boys called the chains. 
We started to our cells, but the inconvenience of 
being coupled so closely together determined us 
to separate. Upon reaching our cell, we looked 
out for the means of breaking so large a chain. 
Texans are a most ingenious people, and are 
usually equal to the emergency. We soon found 
means to accomplish our purpose. 

In our prison room lay a loose stone, about one 
foot across, one side of which was slightly con- 
cave. In the room we also found a six-pound can- 
non shot. We sat flat upon the floor with the 
stone in our laps, the concave side up, and, covered 
with a blanket as a non-conductor of sound, to 
prevent the alarm of the sentinel at the door. 
Then, placing the middle link, of the chain across 
the concave surface of the stone, and another fold 
of the blanket over the link, we commenced ham- 
mering upon it until it came to fit the stone, turn- 
ing it over and beating it back until it also fitted 
the other side, and thus, after twenty turnings of 
the link, it parted, leaving each of us about five 
feet of chain. 

Our companions in turn were all ironed, and 
many were the devices they resorted to in order 
to free themselves from their chains when not in 
the presence of the officers. In that horribly cold 
place, sleeping upon the cold pavement, with the 
still colder iron for your bedfellow, is no pleasant 
situation. Some would bribe the blacksmith to 
make them leaden instead of iron rivets, which, 



THE MIER EXPEDITION. 11 

when blackened with charcoal, had much the ap- 
pearance of iron, while they could be easily taken 
out or reheaded. Half a dollar would buy a leaden 
rivet; and for some time this ruse was practiced. 
Our old friend told the governor ''that it would 
require as many blacksmiths to keep us ironed as 
there were Texans in the castle." 

Our rations were such as, even without labor, 
would hardly have kept soul and body together. 
We fortunately had a small balance of funds. So 
long as it lasted our room-mates made out pretty 
well. A half a dollar each of lard, onions and red 
pepper, cut fine, put into our rations of poor beef, 
and recooked over a small earthen stove, made 
quite a savory meal for several. We also pur- 
chased sugar and coffee, and every day, at 12 
o'clock, from the milkman, a gallon of donkey's 
milk. When we had the means, all of us took a 
hand at cooking. 

A short time after we were ironed our fat 
friend very politely informed us that we must pre- 
pare to go to work. We very politely replied that, 
as we were Texan officers, we would do no such 
thing. He went with our reply to the governor. 
April 6th our corpulent friend returned to our 
prison and said that he had positive orders from 
the governor to make us go to work. Colonel 
Fisher, Captain Reese, and Lieutenant Clark, the 
only Mier officers present, pledged themselves to 
me that they would be shot down sooner than 
submit to the order, and so we informed him. 

Time passed heavily, and, though we were re- 
peatedly told that we must go to work, yet the 
order was not enforced. The balance of the men, 



78 THOMAS JEFFERSON GREEN. 

with the exception of those who had been excused, 
from inability or other causes, were, however, 
compelled to work. 

I determined to return to my country or perish 
in the attempt. To escape from this strong place, 
guarded as it was with the most unremitting vigi- 
lance, was considered impossible by the Mexicans, 
and the project required the greatest caution, 
coolness and calculation. I made known my de- 
termination to Captain Reese, who agreed to join 
me in the enterprise, and also to stake his life 
upon the issue. 

Our first plan was to scale the different walls, 
the height of which we could carefully estimate 
by the eye, during some stormy night when the 
sentinels could be most easily passed. We accord- 
ingly set about making arrangements. With all 
arrangements completed for our migration, we 
were yet prevented from doing so at this time, on 
account of the following circumstances: 

In the central one of our prison rooms, which 
contained thirty-six of our countrymen, a few 
lion-hearted fellows determined also to make the 
attempt at escaping. They had commenced dig- 
ging through an eight-foot wall, and if Captain 
Reese and I escaped by scaling the walls, which 
we now considered pretty certain of accomplish- 
ing, it would break up all further chances of 
others doing so by any means whatever. We then 
determined to join the plan of going through the 
walls, and all escaping at the same time. 

All who determined upon the hazard were in 
high spirits, when we were informed, through 
General Thompson, that we would be released on 



THE MIER EXPEDITION, 79 

the 13th of June, Santa Anna's birthday. The 
13th of June drew near, and every officer we met 
told us that "in a little time we would leave that 
place and return to our country and friends." 
The soldiers, by way of congratulating us, in their 
mixture of Spanish and English, would make a 
flourish peculiar to the Mexican people, dash their 
right hand through their left in the direction of 
Texas, and say: 'Texas in a little while." Even 
this from the most stupid soldier flattered our de- 
sire ; but the 13th came and went, and no libera- 
tion. The next day it was promised, but the next 
failed of liberation. The next, and still the next 
came and passed under a like promise from our 
officers, bringing with each successive day the 
chagrin of disappointment to take the place of 
joyous hopes. 

Our arched cells were twenty feet wide by sev- 
enty long, with a door at one end opening in the 
castle, and a loophole at the other opening upon 
the outside, underneath which is the great moat. 
This loophole is a small aperture, upon the outside 
about four by twelve inches, and gradually widen- 
ing through the eight-foot wall to about two feet 
upon the inside. 

The tools with which we worked were narrow, 
inferior carpenter's chisels. Some of our men 
were employed in the carpenter shop making ar- 
tillery carriages ; and as they would come to their 
meals, and sleep in the same prison cells, they 
would smuggle the chisels out of the shop under 
their blankets. 

As a water-drip will wear away the hardest 
granite, so the breach in the wall gradually grew 



80 THOMAS JEFFERSON GREEN. 

deeper under our incessant labor. This work was 
principally accomplished by drilling holes into the 
stone and mortar with the chisel, and prying off 
small pieces; and frequently after a hard day's 
labor not more than a hatful could be loosed. On 
the first day of July the hole had been drilled down 
to a thin shell on the outer side, which could be 
easily burst out, after the final preparation was 
made for leaving. 

For some weeks previous to our escape those 
who intended to go were busily engaged, every 
safe opportunity, in completing their arrange- 
ments — fixing their knapsacks, saving all the 
bread they could procure, laying aside every cent 
to purchase fat bacon and chocolate. Having 
been furnished money by a friend in Mexico, I 
was enabled to supply several with sugar, coffee, 
and bacon. 

At length, Sunday, the second day of July, 
opened upon us with a favorable sign. We passed 
the word for all who intended to go to be in readi- 
ness by night. Sixteen of our number finally de- 
termined to make the effort. 

At seven o'clock we commenced our final prep- 
arations before leaving the room. This was to 
remove the shell of the wall yet upon the outside, 
then to make one end of the rope fast inside the 
room, and pass it through. By this we would 
have to let ourselves down to the bottom of the 
moat. When this was done, it was found that the 
hole was too small upon the outside to allow any 
but the smallest of our men to pass through, and 
it required two hours' hard work to scale some 
pieces of stone and mortar from one side of it, so 



THE MIER EXPEDITION. 81 

as to permit the larger ones to pass. .This re- 
quired until nine o'clock. 

All things being now ready, John Toowig, a 
gallant son of the Emerald Isle, got into the hole 
feet foremost, and, drawing his bundle after him, 
inch by inch squeezed out, and let himself down 
hand over hand about thirty feet to the bottom of 
the moat. The depth and smallness of the hole 
rendered this operation exceedingly slow. An- 
other and another followed, and at half past 
twelve, after three hours and a half of hard labor, 
all of the sixteen had safely landed. 

The moon had gone down at eight o'clock, and 
being favored by the darkness in the bottom of the 
moat, through which the sentinels overhead could 
not penetrate, we slowly crossed over to the outer 
wall in Indian file, and then felt along the wall 
until we came to a flight of narrow steps eighteen 
inches wide, upon which we crawled on all-fours. 
When we reached the top we breathed more freely, 
for we were now in the wide world, and felt more 
like free men; and as the sentinels drolled out 
their sleepy notes of ''Sentinel, watch out!" we 
jumped up, and cracked our heels together three 
times as a substitute for cheers three times three. 



CHARLES JOSEPH COLTON. 

Charles Joseph Colton, journalist, poet and essayist, 
was born in New Orleans in 1868, and died there in 1916. 
He was admitted to the bar, but did not practice. For 
years he was connected with the Times-Deinocrat, leaving 
that paper to become editor of Colton' s Magazine. He col- 
lected a number of his poems from these journals and pub- 
lished them under the title of Various Verse. 

He unselfishly gave a large part of his time, as School 
Director, to the development and improvement of the school 
system of this city. His efforts, especially those directed 
towards the improvement of the methods of teaching spell- 
ing, have met with excellent results. 

His life was made beautiful by his love for children 
and by the warmth and genuineness of their affection for 
him. 



TO MY BABY BOY. 

FROM 

VARIOUS VERSE. 

When my baby's eyes first open 

In the early morning light, 
I go to him, and, peering 

Down in those orbs so bright, 
I ask, ''Where's papa's baby?" 

With such a roguish air 
His hand will tap his bosom, 

As he answers me, 
"Wight dare.'' 




€lm. J. ^oll-oj^. 



TO MY BABY BOY, 83 

''Where are the little angels 

That played with you, my boy, 
As in your dreams you wandered 

Last night in realms of joy?" 
He seems to comprehend me ; 

Straight upward in the air 
One chubby finger's pointing, 

And the answer comes, 
'Wight dare." 

Along on through the daytime, 

When dirt, from head to foot, 
Encrusts his form and features. 

The question I will put, 
"Where is one clean spot, baby, 

On that face any^vhere?" 
He points up to his forehead 

And he answers me, 
"Wight dare." 

And when the years go winging. 

And his time comes to die. 
Among the angels singing 

In bliss beyond the sky, 
Ruler of the Heavens 

I beg Thee hear my prayer — 
See to it, in Thy goodness. 

That my darling is 
"Wight dare." 



84 CHARLES JOSEPH COLTON, 

A KITCHEN FREE-FOR-ALL. 

FROM 

VARIOUS VERSE. 

The fork said the corkscrew was crooked ; 

The remark made the flatiron sad ; 
The steel knife at once lost its temper, 

And called the tea-holder a cad. 
The tablespoon stood on its mettle ; 

The kettle exhibited bile; 
The stove grew hot at the discussion, 

But the ice remained cool all the while. 

The way that the cabbage and lettuce 

Kept their heads was a something sublime ; 
The greens dared the soup to mix with them. 

And the latter, while it hadn't much thyme. 
Got so mad it boiled over ; the fire 

Felt put out, and started to cry ; 
The oven then roasted the turkey. 

And the cook gave the grease-spot the lye. 

The plate said the clock in the corner 

Transacted its business on tick. 
And the plate, which for years had been battered. 

The clock said was full of old nick. 
The salt said the cream should be whipped ; 

The cinnamon laughed — in a rage; 
The cream said the salt was too fresh. 

And its friend wasn't thought to be sage. 



A KITCHEN FREE-FOR-ALL, 85 

Next the pepper, whose humor is spicy, 

''I dare any fellow," did cry, 
"To caster reflection upon me." 

The mirror took up the defi. 
Then the ax, with a wit sharp and cutting, 

Declared that the rug had the floor, 
While the key said the knob should be worshiped, 

'Cause it was the right thing to adore. 

The bell, ringing in, said the cook-book 

Must be bashful, else wherefore so read? 
The stove-brush, a thing of some polish. 

Looked down on the saucer and said 
It thought that the same was too shallow. 

But admitted the cup was quite deep ; 
The coffee tried to climb on the tea-leaves. 

But discovered the same were too steep. 

You'd not think a thing that's so holey 

As the sieve would have mixed in the fuss. 
But it did, for it said that the butter 

Was a slippery sort of a cuss. 
No one knows how the row would have ended. 

Had not the cook, Maggie O'Dowd, 
Her work being done, closed the kitchen, 

And thusly shut up the whole crowd. 

(By permission of Mrs. Charles J. Colton.) 



SUSAN BLANCHARD ELDER. 

Susan B. Elder was born in Fort Jessup, Sabine Parish, 
Louisiana, April 19, 1835. She spent a few of her earlier 
years in Massachusetts, but returned to attend school at 
St. Michael's Convent of the Sacred Heart, St. James Par- 
ish, Louisiana. She then made her home in New Orleans, 
but after the capture of the city she went to Selma, Ala. 
There she found the opportunity te serve the Confederacy 
with a labor of love and mercy, converting her house into 
a hospital for the wounded. 

Soon after her return to New Orleans she became In- 
structor of Natural Science in the Girls' High School. 

Her poems bespeak a pure and earnest nature and the 
fervor of devout religious feeling. 

She has written the Life of Archbishop Elder; Life of 
Abbe Adrien Rouquette; Savonarola, and Elder Flowers. 



A STATUE DUE SIEUR DE BIENVILLE. 

(A Paper Read Before the Louisiana Historical 
Society, January, 1916.) 

It IS hardly credible that Louisiana does not 
possess a statue of Bienville, the explorer of the 
State, the father of the colony, the founder of New 
Orleans and the governor of the whole territory 
for nearly thirty years. 

History, upon its pages, writes his name in 
large letters as the father of Louisiana. Yet not 
a single enduring monument has been erected to 
his memory. 

There is a medallion of this hero in the Marble 
Hall of the Custom-House, but it belongs to the 
United States Government, and not to Louisiana. 



A STATUE DUE SIEUR DE BIENVILLE, 87 

Few persons know of even this small testimo- 
nial, and fewer still have seen or understood it. 

A parish, a school-house, a street; these are 
the only memorials of him who gave his entire 
self and his best energies to the land that appears 
to have forgotten him! 

Recently there seems to have been rekindled 
the recollection of the great French explorer and 
colonizer, and there is a movement in embryo to 
erect a splendid bronze statue of Bienville here in 
our midst, which shall be worthy of the father of 
Louisiana and of his people. 

A model, small but exquisite, has already been 
made by a distinguished sculptor, and which is to 
be seen, at present, in our State Museum. The 
dress has been copied from historical sources, and 
the pose of the figure is true to life. 

If the project be carried to completion the 
statue, life-size and impressive, will stand some- 
where in the ''Vieux Carre." In front of the Ca- 
bildo would seem to be the proper place. 

There its noble, silent presence will teach our 
youth far better than books can do the history 
of that eventful past whose dangers, difficulties, 
grandeur and achievements resulted in the Lou- 
isiana of to-day. 

He stood on Louisiana soil in 1699 — a mere 
stripling, but full of enthusiasm for his king and 
country and imbued with the grand idea of win- 
ning a new jewel for France — a new realm for his 
king. 

He lived to be an old man, but throughout his 
eighty-six years his one and only love was 
Louisiana. 

Ever busy planning, fighting, governing in 

<7) 



88 SUSAN BLANCHARD ELDER. 

the interest of the colony, he found no time for 
wooing any maiden, and went to his grave un- 
mated and alone. 

Made Governor in 1701 by the death of the 
Sieur de Sauvole, Iberville being still away, the 
young commander showed wonderful wisdom in 
his dealings with white men and with Indians. 

Exploring among the natives, he once met 
three hundred warriors waiting to attack him, 
yet he skillfully changed their enmity into friend- 
ship, and, moreover, secured them as allies. These 
were the Colapissa tribe, first fruits of Bienville's 
tact and judgment. 

Another time he managed to turn back an 
English vessel which was ascending the great 
river, its captain having orders to plant the flag 
of England on the Mississippi shore. 

And how easily this could have been accom- 
plished! The vessel carried sixteen guns, and 
there was not a French post nor a French soldier 
upon the borders to oppose this scheme. 

Young Bienville grasped the situation at 
once and realized the danger to his country's 
cause. 

Bienville in his canoe seemed no match for 
his English foe in his large and well-equipped 
vessel of war ; but diplomacy won a victory. 

The polite Bienville assured Captain Barr, the 
English commander, that the river they were on 
watered a French dependency, subject to Canada, 
then in the possession of France, and he would 
probably find the object of his desires further to 
the west. 

As Bienville knew his right (as rediscoverer 



A STATUE DUE SIEUR DE BIENVILLE. 89 

with Iberville of the river) to settle on its banks, 
his statement was not without foundation. 

However, this incident showed Iberville on his 
return from France the great necessity of estab- 
lishing some settlement on a river which had be- 
come the desired object of possession by the 
mightiest power of Europe. 

A temporary village was erected on a spot 
selected by Bienville, at a distance of eighteen 
leagues from the Gulf of Mexico, being the first 
place on the river above inundation; and, when 
Iberville sailed again for France, Bienville was 
placed in command of the fort on the Mississippi, 
whence he soon became sole ruler of the entire 
province. 

One of the wisest things he did was to estab- 
lish a post on the Sabine River, and another where 
stands Natchitoches to-day, all under command of 
the splendid soldier, M. de Saint Denis, who held 
these forts against both Indian foes and Spanish 
pretensions. 

In a word, Bienville, through every trial and 
difficulty maintained the power of France, and 
by wise appointments of his associates held the 
colony in all its parts true to the king whom he 
served. 

The Spaniards were on the alert to take pos- 
session of Louisiana, as it lay between their two 
domains, namely, Mexico and Florida; but Bien- 
ville guarded against this danger successfully. 

The English also were scheming to acquire 
control, the many Indian tribes, instigated by the 
English, were treacherous enemies of the- Gov- 
ernor and of his race. 

Think of such a position, and no one would 



90 SUSAN BLANC HARD ELDER. 

envy these conditions, nor express aught but 
praise for a man who, valiantly, unfalteringly 
stood at his post and guided events, and guarded 
his people so as to secure peace and a due amount 
of prosperity. 

Kingly favor did not always smile upon him. 
Envy and malice caused him to be removed from 
office, but at the end of ten years he was gladly 
replaced in his governorship, for none had equaled 
him in administrative ability or in wise general- 
ship. 

He saw the birth of Louisiana; he reared it 
into power, and he agonized over its passing into 
Spanish keeping. 

His name and his deeds are indissolubly con- 
nected with that of Louisiana from 1699, when he 
rediscovered La Salle's lost river, until 1767, when 
his great heart broke with anguish because the 
land of his love was handed over to the king of 
Spain, and his tears and supplications in its 
behalf were no longer of avail. He was eighty- 
six years old, and his last public act was offered 
for Louisiana's welfare ; yet that State has not the 
smallest memorial which all might see, and, see- 
ing, learn the facts of his noble life and their 
deep, priceless and forever enduring influence 
upon the conditions of the present day. 

His language still survives among our people. 
We hear it in the prayers of the church, in the 
laws of our courts, the schools of his kindred. 

In a work entitled ''Course of Study" for the 
use of all teachers in the elementary schools of 
our city, published in 1905, occurs this instruc- 
tion : 

"Tell the story of the famous brothers, Iber- 



A STATUE DUE SIEUR DE BIENVILLE, 91 

ville and Bienville. Dwell on the part they 
played in founding Louisiana and New Orleans." 

If the teacher could point to a splendid statue 
of Bienville, ornamenting some well-known local- 
ity, and tell all the valor of the youth, all the trials 
of the manhood, all the sorrows and disappoint- 
ments of the old age of Governor Bienville, the 
lesson would be more impressive than the pages 
of a book. 

If the scores of battles against Indian foes, 
fought with that drawn sword held in Bienville's 
hand, could be related, while the sad face of the 
gallant hero looks out upon the future, the stu- 
dent would begin to understand what Louisiana 
owes to her father, friend and founder. 

Detroit is so proud of Cadillac, once its Gov- 
ernor, that the whole city seems to re-echo his 
name. 

Chicago so venerates the name of Pere Mar- 
quette that evidences of this deep feeling are seen 
and heard on every side. 

Cadillac was Governor of the post about five 
years ; Bienville watched over Louisiana for more 
than three strenuous decades. 

Pere Marquette worked among the Illinois In- 
dians for five or six years; Bienville pacified, 
fought and dealt with fifty tribes for nearly thirty 
years. 

What Detroit and Chicago have done to embalm 
the memory of their great or saintly heroes New 
Orleans should do for him who gave it existence, 
name and fame ; who planned its future, and who, 
not knowing the decrees of Providence, held for 
the United States the grandest, vastest, richest, 
noblest portion of her possessions. 



LADY APRIL. 
BY 

E. J. NICHOLSON. 

Ha, ha, ha, old March may bluster, 
I have given him the slip — 
Tral, la, la, through wood and meadow, 
I am free to dance and skip. 

I'm the child of Lady Shower 
And Lord Sunshine, and I came 

From the fairy land of Rainbow — 
Lady April is my name. 

All the poets call me fickle. 

But my pretty foolish face 
Sets the wisest o' them crazy. 

And to singing of my grace. 

And the wily landscape painters 

Slyly follow me about. 
Till they catch me in their pictures. 

While I smile, and cry, and pout. 

Rise, blue daisies trim and slender. 

Let me set you in a row — 
Tender notes for birds to whistle 

And to sing by, listen ! — so ! 



LADY APRIL. 93 

Ankle deep in balm and blossom, 

I must watch my pretty toes, 
And step quickly ; if I loiter 

Each will bud into a rose. 

Ho ! my spinner, busy spider. 

Wind your thread from tree to tree — 

Spin a dainty pair of stockings 
On your magic wheel for me. 

Ho ! my soft and silent workman, 

Ho ! my jeweler. Sir Dew, 
Diamond buckles for my garter. 

Diamond buckles for my shoe ! 

Veil your face and chastely kneeling 

Set the jewels quickly. Look ! 
Ha ! I see my naked picture 

In the mirror of the brook. 

Shame upon you. Water Lilies ! 

Peeping at me in the rill 
You could see the picture blushing 

If the water would be still. 

Oh, red maple, fold your mantle 
Round me closely, and with buds 

Button it from throat to ankle 
Like a row of ruby studs. 

When the buds burst into blossom 

I will blush myself away, 
With a gentle sigh of pleasure, 

In the arms of young Lord May. 

(By permission of Leonard Nioiiolson.) 



ALCEE FORTIER. 

Alcee Fortier was born in St. James Parish, Louisi- 
ana, June 5, 1856. He completed his preparation for his 
life's work at the University of Virginia and the universi- 
ties of Paris. He occupied the chair of Romance Lan- 
guages and Literature at the University of Louisiana and 
its successor, the Tulane University, from 1879 to 1913, 
the time of his death. He was president of the Modern 
Language Association, the American Folk-Lore Society, 
the Athenee Louisianais, and the Louisiana Historical So- 
ciety. He was a lecturer for the French Government on 
the French languages and literature. He was a deep and 
earnest student and devoted to his work by an ardent love 
for his subject. He is the author of numerous works both 
in French and English. Among these are the History of 
Louisiana; Louisiana Studies, and Louisiana Folk-Lore. 

He has done more than anyone else to encourage the 
study of the French language in the United States and to 
create a French literature there. 



HISTORIC NEW ORLEANS. 

An Address Delivered at Jackson Barracks 
October 31, 1909. 

M?\ President (President Taft) : 

We have now completed the historical ride, 
during which we have had the pleasure of being 
guides to a highly distinguished party, and, as 
chairman of the committee, I shall have the honor 
to give, on this occasion, an outline of Louisiana's 
contribution to the history of the United States. 

Indeed, Mr. President, the events which have 
taken place on our soil have more than local im- 



HISTORIC NEW ORLEANS. 95 

portance, and should be known to all Americans. 
As citizens of the United States we take an inter- 
est in the glorious records of all the States of the 
American Union. We read with pleasure the in- 
scriptions to be found on the monuments in Bos- 
ton, at Lexington and at Concord, but we do not 
believe that all the history of our country is cen- 
tered in and around Boston. We believe that a 
great part of that history took place in and around 
New Orleans. 

On leaving Canal Street at Rue Royale you 
entered, Mr. President, the Vieux Carre of our 
city, the Nouvelle-Orleans of 1718, which is so ad- 
mirably situated between the deep and broad Mis- 
sissippi and beautiful Lake Pontchar train. Bien- 
ville had understood the great importance of es- 
tablishing his new town on the banks of the 
mighty river which we see rushing towards the 
Gulf. The Mississippi had been explored to its 
mouth in 1682 by the heroic La Salle, who had 
given to the immense country watered by it and its 
tributaries the euphonious name of Louisiane, for 
Louis XIV, who was then ruling France with un- 
tiring energy and wonderful magnificence. La 
Salle's discoveries were of great importance for 
the future history of the United States, and so 
were, in 1699, the settlement of the colony of Lou- 
isiana at Old Biloxi, now Ocean Springs, and the 
rediscovery of the Mississippi by Iberville, the 
brave Canadian sailor. 

The streets of New Orleans bear still the 
names given them by the founder of the city. We 
have Royale, Bourbon, Bourgogne, Orleans, Conti, 
St, Louis, and we had Conde, now Chartres, where 



96 ALCEE FORTIER. 

we have just seen the Archbishopric, formerly the 
Convent of the Ursuline nuns, who were the first 
teachers of girls in the colony, and who con- 
tributed to give to the women of New Orleans the 
elegance and charm which still characterize them. 
The gentle Sisters arrived in 1727, and their order, 
has had a distinguished career in Louisiana. 

It was no easy matter to succeed in establish- 
ing a colony in the New World, and the French, 
under Iberville and Bienville, and the descendants 
of those men, were just as energetic as the Eng- 
lishmen who settled Virginia and Massachusetts. 
On the banks of the Mississippi there were forests 
to be cut down in order to cultivate the fertile land 
deposited by the great river ; the turbulent waters 
of that river were to be held in their bed by strong 
embankments, and the hostile Natchez and Chicka- 
saws had to be subdued. It was only then that the 
work of civilization could be begun, and the ad- 
mirable culture of the French could be extended to 
the Mississippi Valley. The future of New Or- 
leans was predicted in 1722 by Father Charlevoix, 
who said that the place would one day be an opu- 
lent city and the metropolis of a great and rich 
colony. The prediction has been verified, and New 
Orleans is at present the metropolis of our south- 
ern country, and, with the opening of the Panama 
Canal, and with deep water from the Lakes to the 
Gulf, it will be one of the greatest cities in the 
world. 

Bienville left the colony in 1743, and was suc- 
ceeded by Vaudreuil, who became Governor of 
Canada in 1752. On the Plains of Abraham the 
fate of Canada was decided, and the approaching 
independence of the English colonies might have 



HISTORIC NEW ORLEANS. 97 

been foreseen. By the treaty of Fontainebleau, in 
1762, and by the treaty of Paris, in 1763, Louis XV 
lost his colonial empire in America. Canada had 
been conquered, but Louisiana was given away by 
a wretched King. The Louisianians rose against 
the Spanish domination on October 29th, 1768, un- 
der an eloquent and patriotic leader, Nicolas de 
Lafreniere. They expelled the Spanish Governor 
and thought of establishing a republic in New Or- 
leans. The French colonists were animated by the 
same spirit as the English colonists in 1776, and 
we are proud that our ancestors of 1768 should 
have been the first men on this continent to have 
thought of making themselves independent from 
the rule of a European monarch. This contribu- 
tion of a spirit of heroism and independence to the 
civilization of the future United States is of the 
greatest importance, and deserves careful notice. 
The chiefs of the revolution of October, 1768, were 
cruelly put to death in October, 1769, and the 
Spanish domination was firmly established. It be- 
came popular under Governor Bernardo de Galvez, 
who gave to the Louisianians the glory of having 
taken part in the war of the American Revolution. 
It gives me great pleasure, Mr. President, to 
mention the campaigns of Galvez, as they are not 
known as they should be. In their glorious strug- 
gle for independence the Americans obtained the 
aid of France, and the names of Lafayette and of 
Rochambeau will never be forgotten in the history 
of the United States. We should also remember 
the aid given by Spanish Louisiana, and the name 
of Galvez, who captured from the British the town 
of Baton Rouge in 1779, Mobile in 1780 and Pensa- 



98 ALCEE FORTIER, 

cola in 1781. The campaign against the latter city 
is of the greatest interest. As the man-of-war San 
Ramon had run aground in attempting to enter the 
harbor of Pensacola, the Spanish commodore re- 
fused to allow his frigates to run the same risk. 
Thereupon Galvez ordered his small fleet from 
Louisiana — a brig, a schooner and two gunboats — 
to force an entrance into the port. He embarked 
on board the brig Galveztown, commanded by 
Rousseau, a native Louisianian, caused his pen- 
nant to be raised, so that his presence on board the 
brig should be known, and boldly entered the port. 
The Spanish squadron followed the next day, and 
Pensacola capitulated on May 9th, 1781. Charles 
III of Spain rewarded Galvez by giving him a high 
military rank and by allowing him to place on his 
coat-of-arms the brig Galveztown, with the proud 
words, ''I Alone." In letters to Galvez, Wash- 
ington acknowledged the help given the Ameri- 
cans by the Spanish troops, among whom were 
many Louisianians. This is surely an important 
contribution to the history of the United States, 
and important, also, were the attempts made by 
Governor Miro of Louisiana, in 1788, and by Gov- 
ernor Carondelet, in 1797, to separate the western 
country from the Union and join it to the Spanish 
possessions in the South. 

We had the honor, Mr. President, to take you 
to Jackson Square, the former Place d'Armes of 
the French. From the square one sees our historic 
Cathedral, situated between two imposing build- 
ings. The one to the right of the church is Span- 
ish, like the Cathedral. It is the Cabildo, where 
took place, in 1803, the transfer of Louisiana from 



HISTORIC NEW ORLEANS, 99 

Spain to France, and from France to the United 
States. When Bonaparte ceded Louisiana to Presi- 
dent Jefferson he himself prepared Article Third 
of the treaty of cession, and guaranteed to the Lou- 
isianians their political and religious freedom, and, 
from 1803 to our days, there has been absolute re- 
ligious toleration in Louisiana, an admirable con- 
tribution to the civilization of the United States. 

When the American banner replaced the 
French tricolor in 1893 there was no longer colo- 
nial Louisiana. But the history of the French and 
Spanish dominations should be carefully studied. 
The Latin races which ruled Louisiana for more 
than a century have left upon her an indelible 
mark. To them are due the greater part of her 
laws, a high sense of the sesthetic and an exalted 
chivalric spirit. 

The Province of Louisiana was immense at 
the time of the cession by Bonaparte, and the ac- 
quisition of that vast territory, which extended as 
far as the Rocky Mountains, rendered inevitable 
the expansion of the United States beyond the 
Rockies to the west and to the Rio Grande to the 
south. As ' soon as the Mississippi became an 
American river from its source to its mouth, it 
was certain that its tributaries would be thorough- 
ly explored, and, in fact, the Missouri, the greatest 
of its tributaries, and itself a noble river, led 
Lewis and Clark to the unknown West in 1804. 
The same year the Territory of Orleans was or- 
ganized. 

From 1804 to 1812 the only events of general 
importance in the history of Louisiana are the 
presence of Aaron Burr in New Orleans, at the 



100 ALCEE FORTIER. 

time of his mad attempt to establish for himself an 
empire in the Southwest, and the revolution at 
Baton Rouge in 1810, which added that city and 
West Florida to the domain of Louisiana. In 1812 
the Territory of Orleans became the State of Lou- 
isiana, as guaranteed by Bonaparte. 

The most glorious event of the war of 1812 
was the battle of New Orleans, which was fought 
at a short distance from this place. It was in vain 
that the British succeeded, on December 23rd, 
1814, in reaching the Mississippi River, and in es- 
tablishing their headquarters a few miles from the 
City of New Orleans. Andrew Jackson attacked 
them with wonderful impetuosity and skill on the 
very evening of their arrival, and repulsed them 
on December 28th, on January 1st, and on Jan- 
uary 8th, 1815. On the plain of Chalmette the 
American troops, commanded by General Jackson, 
inflicted upon the British invaders, commanded by 
General Pakenham, the most crushing defeat that 
history mentions. At the spot where stands the 
monument erected to commemorate his victory 
Jackson stood to direct his valiant troops in their 
defense of the soil of Louisiana, and, therefore, of 
the United States. From the monument one sees 
a row of trees which grow on a ditch, which is the 
celebrated Rodriguez Canal, on the side of which 
Jackson built his impregnable parapet. On the 
othei- side of the canal is the field of Chalmette, 
and there, at daybreak, on January 8th, 1815, the 
British army advanced to attack the Americans. 
In the space from the river to the wood, when the 
sun rose, there was a swarm of British soldiers 
marching against the American line of battle, and 



HISTORIC NEW ORLEANS. 101 

at half -past eight in the morning the plain of Chal- 
mette was covered with the bodies of brave men 
defeated by Jackson's army. There fell Gibbs and 
Keane, Rennie and Wilkinson, and the gallant Pak- 
enham himself, leading his troops in a vain charge. 

Bravely and well did they fight, Jackson and 
his men — Tennesseeans, Kentuckians, Mississip- 
pians, Louisianians, Frenchmen, and the so-called 
pirates of Laf itte. 

If, however, the men had not succeeded in re- 
pelling the invaders, there is no doubt, as Bernard 
de Marigny said, that there would have been found 
among the Creole women another inspired Maid of 
Orleans to rout the English. The soil of Louisi- 
ana cannot be conquered by a foreign foe. 

We are glad, Mr. President, that it was while 
you were Secretary of War that the land on which 
stands the Chalmette Monument was conveyed by 
the State of Louisiana to the United States. That 
shaft is an important memento of the heroism of 
our fathers, and we are grateful to the patriotic 
and energetic women of the Society of the United 
States Daughters of 1776 and 1812, who have com- 
pleted the monument, and who guard it so zeal- 
ously. 

The Louisianians fought valiantly in all the 
wars in our history after 1815; they have con- 
tributed to the literature of the country works of 
merit in French and English, and they have estab- 
lished educational institutions which have trained 
many Americans to fulfill their duty as enlight- 
ened men and women in the uplifting of the civili- 
zation of the United States. 

(By permission of Mrs. M. L. Fortier.) 



ST. GEORGE TUCKER. 

St. George Tucker was born on the island of Bermuda, 
July 10, 1752, and died in Nelson County, Virginia, No- 
vember 10, 1828. He fought in the War of the American 
Revolution, was chosen by his State to be Judge and mem- 
ber of the Annapolis Convention, and by his college of 
William and Mary to teach law. By marriage with the 
Widow Frances Bland Randolph he became the step- 
father of the famous John Randolph, of Roanoke, Va. 

He was the author of Poems; Probationary Odes; Com- 
mentary on the Constitution; Dissertation on Slavery, and 
an edition of Blackstone. 



RESIGNATION, OR DAYS OF MY YOUTH. 

Days of my youth, 

Ye have glided away ; 
Hairs of my youth. 

Ye are frosted and gray; 
Eyes of my youth. 

Your keen sight is no more ; 
Cheeks of my youth, 

Ye are furrowed all o'er ; 
Strength of my youth. 

All your vigor is gone ; 
Thoughts of my youth. 

Your gay visions are flown. 

Days of my youth, 

I wish not your recall ; 
Hairs of my youth, 

I'm content ye should fall ; 
Eyes of my youth, 

You much evil have seen ; 



RESIGNATION. lOa 

Cheeks of my youth, 

Bathed in tears you have been ; 
Thoughts of my youth, 

You have led me astray ; 
Strength of my youth, 

Why lament your decay ? 

Days of my age, 

Ye will shortly be past ; 
Pains of my age. 

Yet awhile ye can last ; 
Joys of my age. 

In true wisdom delight ; 
Eyes of my age. 

Be religion your light ; 
Thoughts of my age, 

Dread ye not the cold sod ; 
Hopes of my age, 

Be ye fixed on your God, 



(8) 



JOHN PENDLETON KENNEDY. 

John Pendleton Kennedy was born in Baltimore, Md., 
October 25, 1795. He served as a volunteer in the War 
of 1812, studied law, became a prominent man in public 
life, served both in the Legislature and in Congress, and 
was appointed Secretary of the Navy under President Fill- 
more, in which latter position he aided in preparing the 
famous expeditions of Perry to Japan and Kane to the 
Arctic Regions. 

He died at Newport, R. I., August 18, 1870, and was 
buried in Baltimore. 

His best-known works are his novels. Horse Shoe Rob- 
inson, Swallow Barn, and Rob of the Bowl. 



WHAT ONE BOY DID TO WIN OUR COUN- 
TRY'S FREEDOM. 

/ FROM 

HORSE-SHOE ROBINSON. 

On the morning that succeeded the night in 
which Horse-Shoe Robinson arrived at Musgrove's 
the stout and honest sergeant might have been 
seen, about eight o'clock, leaving the main road 
from Ninety-six, at the point where that leading to 
David Ramsay's separated from it, and cautiously 
urging his way into the deep forest by the more 
private path into which he had entered. The 
knowledge that Innis was encamped along the En- 
noree, within a short distance of the mill, had com- 
pelled him to make an extensive circuit to reach 



HORSE-SHOE ROBINSON. 105 

Ramsay's dwelling, whither he was now bent, and 
he had experienced considerable delay in his morn- 
ing journey by finding himself frequently in the 
neighborhood of small foraging parties of Tories, 
whose motions he was obliged to watch for fear of 
an encounter. He had once already been compelled 
to use his horse's heels in what he called **fair 
flight," and once to ensconce himself a full half 
hour under cover of the thicket afforded him by a 
swamp. He now, therefore, according to his own 
phrase, ''dived into the little road that scrambled 
down through the woods towards Ramsay's, with 
all his eyes about him, looking out as sharply as a 
fox on a foggy morning," and with this circum- 
spection he was not long in arriving within view 
of Ramsay's house. 

Having satisfied himself as to the safety of his 
visit, he entered the dwelling. 

''Mistress Ramsay," said he, walking up to the 
dame, who was occupied at a table, "I wish luck 
to you, ma'am, and all your house ! I hope you have 
none of these clinking and clattering bullies about 
you that are as thick over this country as the frogs 
in the kneading troughs that they tell of." 

"Good lack, Mr. Horse-Shoe Robinson," ex- 
claimed the matron, offering the sergeant her 
hand. "What has brought you here ? What news ? 
Who are with you ? For patience sake, tell me !" 

"I am alone," said Robinson, "and a little wet- 
tish, mistress," he added, as he took off his hat and 
shook the water from it. "It has just set up a rain 
and looks as if it were going to give us enough of 
it. You don't mind doing a little dinner work of a 
Sunday, I see — shelling of beans, I s'pose, is tan- 



106 JOHN PENDLETON KENNEDY. 

tamount to dragging a sheep out of a pond, as the 
preachers allow on the Sabbath. Ha, ha ! Where's 
Davy?" 

"He's gone over to the meeting-house on En- 
noree, hoping to hear something of the army at 
Camden. Perhaps you can tell us the news from 
that quarter?" 

"Faith, that's a mistake. Mistress Ramsay. 
Though I don't doubt that they are hard upon the 
scratches by this time. But at this present speak- 
ing I command the flying artillery. We have out 
one man in the corps — and that's myself, and all 
the guns we have is this piece of ordnance that 
hangs in this old belt by my side (pointing to his 
sword) — and that I captured from the enemy at 
Blackstock's. I was hoping I might find John 
Ramsay at home ; I have need of him as a recruit." 

"Ah, Mr. Robinson, John has a heavy life of it 
over there with Sumpter. The boy is often with- 
out his natural rest or a meal's victuals, and the 
general thinks so much of him that he can't spare 
him to come home. I haven't the heart to complain 
as long as John's service is of any use, but it does 
seem, Mr. Robinson, like needless tempting of the 
mercies of providence. We thought that he might 
have been here to-day; yet I am glad he didn't 
come, for he would have been certain to get into 
trouble. Who should come in this morning, just 
after my husband had cleverly got away on his 
horse, but a young cock-a-whoop ensign, that be- 
longs to Ninety-six, and four great Scotchmen 
with him, all in red coats ; they had been out thiev- 
ing, I warrant, and were now going home again. 



HORSE-SHOE ROBINSON. 107 

And who but they ! Here they were — swaggering 
all about my house— and calling for this, and call- 
ing for that, as if they owned the fee-simple of 
everything on the plantation. And it made my 
blood rise, Mr. Horse- Shoe, to see them run out in 
the yard and catch up my chickens and ducks and 
kill as many as they could string about them, and 
I not daring to say a word, though I did give them 
a piece of my mind, too." 

"Who is at home with you?" inquired the ser- 
geant eagerly. 

"Nobody but my youngest boy, Andrew," an- 
swered the dame. 

"What arms have you in the house?" asked 
Robinson. 

"We have a rifle and a horseman's pistol that 
belongs to John." 

"They took the route towards Ninety-six, you 
said. Mistress Ramsay?" 

"Yes, went straight forward on the road." 

"Isn't there an old field, about a mile from this, 
on that road?" inquired the sergeant, still intent 
upon his own thoughts. 

"There is," replied the dame; "with the old 
school-house upon it." 

"A lop-sided, rickety log-cabin in the middle of 
the field. Am I right, good woman?" 

"Yes." 

"And nobody lives in it? It has no door to it?" 

"There has not been anybody in it these seven 
years." 

"I know the place very well," said the sergeant, 
thoughtfully. "There are woods just on this side 
of it." 



108 JOHN PENDLETON KENNEDY, 

"That's true," replied the dame, "but what is it 
you are thinking about, Mr. Robinson?" 

"How long before this rain began was it that 
they quitted this house?" 

"Not above fifteen minutes." 

"Mistress Ramsay, bring me the rifle and pistol 
both, and the powder horn and bullets." 

"As you say, Mr. Horse-Shoe," answered the 
dame, as she turned round to leave the room, "but 
I am sure I can't suspicion what you mean to do." 

In a few minutes the woman returned with the 
weapons and gave them to the sergeant. 

"Where is Andy?" asked Horse-Shoe. 

The hostess went to the door and called her 
son, and almost immediately afterwards a sturdy 
boy of about twelve or fourteen years of age en- 
tered the apartment, his clothes dripping with 
rain. 

"How would you like a scrimmage, Andy, with 
those Scotchmen that stole your mother's chickens 
this morning?" asked Horse-Shoe. 

"I'm agreed," replied the boy, "if you will tell 
me what to do." 

"You are not going to take the boy out on any 
of your desperate projects, Mr. Horse-Shoe?" said 
the mother, with the tears starting instantly into 
her eyes. "You wouldn't take such a child as that 
into danger?" 

"Bless your soul, Mrs. Ramsay, there is no dan- 
ger about it. Don't take on so. It's a thing that is 
either done at a blow or not done, and there's an 
end of it. I want the lad only to bring home the 
prisoners for me, after I have taken them." 



HORSE-SHOE ROBINSON. 109 

"Ah, Mr. Robinson, I have one son already in 
these wars — God protect him — and you men don't 
know how a mother's heart yearns for her children 
in these times. I cannot give another," she added, 
as she threw her arms over the shoulders of the 
youth and drew him to her bosom. 

"Oh, it is nothing,'' said Andrew, in a spright- 
ly tone. "It's only snapping of a pistol, mother — 
pooh ! If I'm not afraid you oughtn't to be." 

"I give you my honor. Mistress Ramsay," said 
Robinson, "that I will bring or send your son safe- 
ly back in one hour, and that he sha'n't be put in 
any sort of danger whatsoever. Come, that's a 
good woman." 

"You are not deceiving me, Mr. Robinson?" 
asked the matron, wiping away a tear. "You 
wouldn't mock the sufferings of a weak woman in 
such a thing as this ?" 

"On the honesty of a soldier, ma'am," replied 
Horse-Shoe, "the lad shall be in no danger." 

"Then I will say no more," answered the moth- 
er. "But Andy, my child, be sure to let Mr. Robin- 
son keep before you." 

Horse-Shoe now loaded the fire-arms, and hav- 
ing slung the pouch across his body, he put the pis- 
tol into the hands of the boy ; then shouldering his 
rifle he and his young ally left the room. 

"Now, Andy, my lad," said Horse-Shoe, after 
he had mounted Captain Peter, "you must get up 
behind me." The boy sprang upon the horse, and 
Horse-Shoe, putting his mount up to a gallop, took 
the road in the direction that had been pursued 
by the soldiers. 

As soon as our adventurers had gained a wood 



110 JOHN PENDLETON KENNEDY. 

at the distance of about half a mile, the sergeant 
relaxed his speed and advanced at a pace a little 
above a walk. 

"Andy," he said, ''we have got rather a ticklish 
sort of a job before us, so I must give you your les- 
son, which you will understand better by knowing 
something of my plan. As soon as your mother 
told me that these thieving villains had left her 
house about fifteen minutes before the rain came 
on, and that they had gone along upon this road, I 
remembered the old field up here, and the little log 
hut in the middle of it, and it was natural to sup- 
pose that they had just got about near that hut 
when this rain came up, and then it was the most 
supposable case in the world that they would nat- 
urally go into it, as the driest place they could find. 
So now, you see, it's my calculation that the whole 
batch is there at this very point of time. We will 
go slowly along until we get to the other end of this 
wood, in sight of the old field, and then, if there 
is no one on the lookout, we will open our first 
trench. You know what that means, Andy." 

"It means, I s'pose, that we'll go right smack at 
them," replied Andrew. 

"Pretty exactly," said the sergeant. "But listen 
to me. Just at the edge of the woods you will have 
to get down and put yourself behind a tree. I'll 
ride forward, as if I had a whole troop at my 
heels, and if I catch them, as I expect, they will 
have a little fire kindled, and, as likely as not, 
they'll be cooking some of your mother's fowls." 

"Yes, I understand," said the boy eagerly. 

"No, you don't," replied Horse-Shoe, "but you 
will when you hear what I am going to say. If I 



HORSE-SHOE ROBINSON, 111 

get at them unawares, they'll be mighty apt to 
think they are surrounded, and will bellow like 
fine fellows for quarter. And, thereupon, Andy, 
ril cry out 'stand fast,' as if I was speaking to my 
own men, and when you hear that, you must come 
up full tilt, because it will be a signal to you that 
the enemy has surrendered. Then it will be your 
business to run into the house and bring out the 
muskets as quick as a rat runs through a kitchen, 
and when you have done that, why, all's done. But 
if you should hear any popping of fire-arms — ^that 
is, more than one shot, which I may chance to let 
off — do you take that for a bad sign and get away 
as fast as you can heel it. You comprehend?" 

"Oh, yes," replied the lad, ''and I'll do what you 
want and more, too, may be, Mr. Robinson." 

"Captain Robinson, remember, Andy ; you must 
call me captain in the hearing of these Scotchmen." 

"I'll not forget that either," answered Andrew. 

By the time that these instructions were fully 
impressed upon the boy our adventurous forlorn 
hope, as it may be fitly called, had arrived at the 
place which Horse-Shoe Robinson had designated 
for the commencement of active operations. They 
had a clear view of the old field, and it afforded 
them a strong assurance that the enemy was ex- 
actly where they wished him to be, when they dis- 
covered smoke arising from the chimney of the 
hovel. 

Andrew was soon posted behind a tree, and 
Robinson only tarried a moment to make the boy 
repeat the signals agreed on, in order to ascertain 
that he had them correctly in his memory. Being 
satisfied from this experiment that the intelli- 



112 JOHN PENDLETON KENNEDY, 

gence of his young companion might be depended 
upon, he galloped across the intervening space, 
and, in a few seconds, abruptly reined up his steed, 
in the very doorway of the hut. The party within 
was gathered around a fire at the further end, 
and in the corner near the door were four mus- 
kets thrown together against the wall. To spring 
from his saddle and thrust himself one pace inside 
the door was a movement which the sergeant ex- 
ecuted in an instant, shouting at the sam_e time : 

"Halt ! File off right and left to both sides of 
the house, and wait orders. I demand the sur- 
render of all here,'* he said, as he planted him- 
self between the party and their weapons. "I will 
shoot down the first man who budges a foot." 

"Leap to your arms," cried the young officer 
who commanded the little party inside of the 
house. "Why do you stand?" 

"I don't want to do you or your men any harm, 
young man," said Robinson, as he brought his rifle 
to a level; "but, by my father's son, I will not 
leave one of you to be put upon a muster-roll if 
you raise a hand at this moment." 

Both parties now stood, for a brief space, ey- 
ing each other in a fearful suspense, during which 
there was an expression of doubt and irresolution 
visible on the countenances of the soldiers, as they 
surveyed the broad proportions and met the stern 
glance of the sergeant, whilst the delay, also, 
began to raise an apprehension in the mind of 
Robinson that his stratagem would be discovered. 

"Shall I let loose upon them. Captain*'" said 
Andrew Ramsay, now appearing, most unexpect- 
edly to Robinson, at the door of the hut. "Come 



HORSE-SHOE ROBINSON. 113 

on, boys!'* he shouted, as he turned his face to- 
wards the field. 

"Keep them outside of the door — stand fast," 
cried the doughty sergeant, with admirable 
promptitude, in the new and sudden posture of 
his affairs caused by this opportune appearance 
of the boy. "Sir, you see that it's not worth while 
fighting five to one; and I should be sorry to be 
the death of your brave fellows ; so, take my ad- 
vice, and surrender to the Continental Congress 
and this scrap of its army which I command." 

During this appeal the sergeant was ably sec- 
onded by the lad outside, who was calling out first 
on one name and then on another, as if in the 
presence of a troop. The device succeeded, and 
the officer within, believing the forbearance of 
Eobinson to be real, at length said: "Lower your 
rifle, sir. In the presence of a superior force, 
taken by surprise and without arms, it is my duty 
to save bloodshed. With the promise of fair usage 
and the rights of prisoners of war I surrender this 
little foraging party under my command." 

"I'll make the terms agreeable," replied the 
sergeant. "Never doubt me, sir. Right hand file, 
advance, and receive the arms of the prisoners !" 

"I'm here, captain," said Andrew, in a con- 
ceited tone, as if it were a mere occasion of merri- 
ment; and the lad quickly entered the house and 
secured the weapons, retreating with them some 
paces from the door. 

"Now, sir," said Horse-Shoe to the Ensign, 
"your sword, and whatever else you might have 
about you of the ammunitions of war !" 



114 JOHN PENDLETON KENNEDY. 

The officer delivered up his sword and a pair 
of pocket pistols. 

"Ensign, your servant," said Horse-Shoe, still 
preserving this unusual exhibition of polite- 
ness. ''You have defended your post like an old 
soldier, although you haven't much beard on your 
chin ; but, seeing you have given up, you shall be 
treated like a man who has done his duty. You 
will walk out now, and form yourselves in line at 
the door. I'll engage my men shall do you no 
harm ; they are of a merciful breed." 

When the little squad of prisoners submitted 
to this command, and came to the door, they were 
stricken with equal astonishment and mortifica- 
tion to find, in place of the detachment of cavalry 
which they expected to see, nothing but a man, a 
boy, and a horse. Their first emotions were ex- 
pressed in curses, which were even succeeded by 
laughter from one or two of the number. There 
seemed to be a disposition on the part of some to 
resist the authority that now controlled them ; and 
sundry glances were exchanged, which indicated 
a purpose to turn upon their captors. The ser- 
geant no sooner perceived this than he halted, 
raised his rifle to his breast, and, at the same in- 
stant gave Andrew Ramsay an order to retire a 
few paces, and to fire one of the captured pieces at 
the first man who opened his lips. 

Finding the conqueror determined to execute 
summary martial law upon the first who should 
mutiny, the prisoners submitted, and marched in 
double file from the hut back towards Ramsay's — 
Horse-Shoe, with Captain Peter's bridle dangling 
over his arm, and his gallant young auxiliary, An- 



HORSE-SHOE ROBINSON. 115 

drew, laden with double the burden of Robinson 
Crusoe (having all the firearms packed upon his 
shoulders), bringing up the rear. In this order 
victors and vanquished returned to David 
Ramsay's. 

''Well, I have brought you your ducks and 
chickens back. Mistress," said the sergeant, as he 
halted the prisoners at the door; "and, what's 
more, I have brought home a young soldier worth 
his weight in gold." 

"Heaven bless my child ! my brave boy !" cried 
the mother, seizing the lad in her arms, and un- 
heeding anything else in the present perturbation 
of her feelings. "I feared ill would come of it; 
but Heaven has preserved him. Did he behave 
handsomely, Mr. Robinson? But I am sure he 
did." 

"A little more venturesome, ma'am, than I 
wanted him to be," replied Horse-Shoe; "but he 
did excellent service. These are his prisoners, 
Mistress Ramsay. I should never have gotten 
them if it hadn't been for Andy. Show me an- 
other boy in America that's made more prisoners 
than there were men to fight them with, that's all !" 

(By permission of G. P. Putnam's Sons.) 



ADRIEN ROUQUETTE. 

Adrien Emmanuel Rouquette was bom in New Or- 
leans, February 13, 1818. He was educated in France, and 
after being graduated from the College of Nantes he trav- 
eled through Europe for ten years. He returned to Lou- 
isiana, made his home in St. Tammany Parish, and began 
the study of law, but soon abandoned it to prepare for 
the priesthood. After his ordination he devoted his life, 
with the zeal of the true missionary, to the service of the 
Choctaw Indians who still lingered on the banks of the 
Tchefuncta, the Bogue-Falaya, and Bayou Lacombe. He 
died in New Orleans, July 15, 1887. His best-known poems 
are Wild Flowers; Sacred Poetry; Les Savanes, and 
Poemes Patriotiques. 



THE WILD LILY AND THE PASSION- 
FLOWER. 

Sweet flow'r of light, 
The queen of solitude, 

The image bright 
Of grace-born maidenhood, 

Thou risest tall. 
Midst struggling weeds that droop : 

Thy lieges all, 
They humbly bow and stoop ! 

Dark-colored flow'r. 
How solemn, awful, sad ! — 

I feel thy pow'r, 
king, in purple clad ! 



THE WILD LILY. 117 

With head recline, 
Thou art the emblem, dear, 

Of woes divine ; 
The flow'r I most revere ! 

The lily white. 
The purple passion-flow'r. 

Mount Thabor bright. 
The gloomy Olive bow'r. 

Such is our life — 
Alternate joys and woes. 

Short peace, long strife. 
Few friends, and many foes ! 

My friend, away 
All wailings here below: 

The ROYAL WAY 

To realms above is woe! 



118 ADRIEN ROUQUETTE, 



TO NATURE, MY MOTHER. 

Nature, powerful, smiling, calm. 

To my unquiet heart. 
Thy peace distilling as a balm, 

Thy mighty life impart. 

Nature, mother, still the same. 
So lovely mild with me, 

To live in peace, unsung by fame. 
Unchanged I come to thee ; 

1 come to live as saints have lived, 

I fly where they have fled, 
By men unholy never grieved. 
In prayer my tears to shed. 

Alone with thee, from cities far, 
Dissolved each earthly tie ; 

By some divine magnetic star 
Attracted still on high. 

Oh, that my heart, inhaling love 

And life with ecstasy. 
From this low world to worlds above 

Could rise exultingly! 



JAMES DUNWOODY BROWNSON DE BOW. 

De Bow was the greatest statistician that this country 
has produced. He brought to the aid of his natural talents 
his varied experience as lawyer, journalist, and business 
man. 

He was born in Charleston, S. C, July 10, 1820, and 
died in Elizabeth, N. J., February 27, 1867. 

He was Superintendent of the Census during the ad- 
ministration of President Pierce. 

His best literary work was done as editor of the 
Commercial Review. 



THE MISSISSIPPI. 

FROM 

THE COMMERCIAL REVIEW. 

This noble inland ocean, whose accumulated 
waters, after a passage of three thousand miles, 
lose themselves in the immense basin of the Mex- 
ican Gulf, remained for countless ages wild, soli- 
tary and unexplored. We can imagine the savage 
standing alone by its banks, and, as the winds and 
the waters whispered to him of a Great Spirit, 
indulging vague notions of his own being. But 
those days have passed and the savage no longer 
lingers. The white man has dispelled the romance. 
The axe of the forester is heard; the plow, the 
harrow, the blacksmith-shop and the farm-house, 
the thriving village, the busy town, the popula- 
ce) 



120 J. BROWNSON DUNWOODY DE BOW. 

tion, the civilization, are sweeping up the banks 
of the noble river even to its high sources in the 
Itasca Lake. 

A Spaniard, in 1538, stood by the side of this 
stream ; he had been allured to the distant West by 
hopes of gain — by restless ambition — by love of 
adventure. 'Ternando de Soto," says the histo- 
rian, "found nothing so remarkable as his bury- 
ing-place." 

In 1668, two Canadian Fathers carried the 
cross westward from the lakes — Marquette and 
Allouez. They receive from Indian lips vague 
notions of a "great river;'* and Marquette, with 
Joliet, a citizen of Quebec, reaches its banks, 
and floats his canoe from the mouth of the Wis- 
consin to Arkansas. 

But there was one whom nature was preparing 
for higher purposes. There crossed the waters 
from France, at this time, a man of highest re- 
solves — most elevated conceptions — sternest en- 
durance, and unlimited enterprise — La Salle. 

This adventurer dreamed that away in the 
remote sources of the Mississippi was to be found 
that western passage to China and India for which 
the world had so long sighed. The brain of La 
Salle was dazzled with the dream, and he saw 
himself at once a prince in the glory and wealth 
which the discovery would bring to France. 

A vessel was launched on the lakes. The 
"Griffon," of sixty tons, first disturbed the quiet 
of those waters, and carried La Salle to the south- 
westward of Michigan. On the Miamis, on the 
Kankakee, on the Illinois, the adventurer and his 
party floated in canoes ; they addressed a party of 



THE MISSISSIPPI, 121 

Indians on the banks, in relation to the "Great 
River ;" but old Nikanape, a chief, shook his head 
discouragingly. 

They said that others had perished in the 
attempt ; that the banks were inhabited by a strong 
and terrible race of men, who killed everybody that 
came among them ; that the waters swarmed with 
crocodiles, serpents, and frightful monsters, and 
that, even if the boat was large and strong enough 
to escape these dangers, it would be dashed in 
pieces by the falls and rapids, or meet with in- 
evitable destruction in a hideous whirlpool at the 
river's mouth, where the river itself was swal- 
lowed up and lost. 

La Salle was not deterred. On the 6th of Feb- 
ruary, 1681, his canoe floated upon the broad 
bosom of the Mississippi, and the current carried 
him on. It was now two months, and the river 
presented three channels. The party divided in 
these channels, and in a few days the glad voices 
of civilized men broke upon the solitude of the 
Mexican Gulf — La Salle had navigated the Mis- 
sissippi river to its mouth. A column was erected, 
banners floated, artillery echoed, and ''God Save 
the King" was chanted by monks. 

The adventurer returned to France. The min- 
istry and the people were ready to second his 
scheme of a colony, to be located at the river's 
mouth. The vessels sail; but fate has made an- 
other decree. Catastrophe follows catastrophe, 
misfortunes unparalleled. The Bay of St. Ber- 
nard, in Texas, is mistaken for the mouth of the 
Mississippi — La Salle discovers the error, and, in 
struggling to correct it, dies by the hand of an 
assassin. 



FRANCIS ORRERY TICKNOR. 

This many-sided man was born in Baldwin County, 
Georgia, in 1822. He was well educated, completing his 
medical studies in New York and Philadelphia. 

At his farm, "Torch Hill," near Columbus, he became a 
successful grower of fruits and flowers, indulged himself 
in the pleasure of music, drawing, and poetry, and won the 
hearts of his neighbors as a good and devoted country 
doctor. 

He possessed the genius of the poet, and if he had 
given his entire attention to letters his fame would be more 
in accord with his ability. His poems were collected and 
published in 1879, five years after his death. 



LITTLE GIFFEN. 

Out of the focal and foremost fire ; 
Out of the hospital's walls as dire, 
Smitten of grape-shot and gangrene. 
Eighteenth battle and he sixteen — 
Spectre, such as you seldom see. 
Little Giffen of Tennessee. 

Take him and welcome, the surgeons said, 
Not the doctor can help the dead! 
So we took him and brought him where 
The balm was sweet in our summer air. 
And we laid him down on a wholesome bed 
Utter Lazarus, heel to head! 



LITTLE GIFFEN. 123 

And we watched the war with abated breath, 
Skeleton boy against skeleton death! 
Months of torture, how many such ! 
Weary weeks of the stick and crutch, 
And still a glint in the steel-blue eye 
Told of a spirit that wouldn't die. 

And didn't! Nay! More! In death's despite 
The crippled skeleton learned to write — 
"Dear Mother V* at first, of course, and then 
"Dear Captain!" — inquiring about the men! 
Captain's answer : "Of eighty and five, 
Giffen and I are left alive !" 

"Johnson pressed at the front," they say ; 

Little Giffen was up and away ! 

A tear, his first, as he bade good-bye, 

Dimmed the glint of his steel-blue eye ; 

"I'll write, if spared !" — there was news of fight. 

But none of Giffen ! he did not write ! 

I sometimes fancy that were I King 
Of the courtly knights of Arthur's ring, 
With the voice of the minstrel in mine ear 
And the tender legend that trembles here, 
I'd give the best on his bended knee, 
The whitest soul of my chivalry, 
For Little Giffen of Tennessee. 



124 FRANCIS ORRERY TICKNOR. 



LOYAL. 

The Douglas, in the days of old, 

The gentle minstrels sing, 
Wore at his heart, encased in gold, 

The heart of Bruce, his King. 

Through Panim lands to Palestine, 

Befall what peril might. 
To lay that heart on Christ, his shrine. 

His Knightly word he plight. 

A weary way, by night and day, 

Of vigil and of fight, 
Where never rescue came by day 

Nor ever rest by night. 

And one by one the valiant spears 
They faltered from his side ; 

And one by one his heavy tears 
Fell for the Bruce who died. 

All fierce and black, around his track. 

He saw the combat close. 
And counted but a single sword 

Against uncounted foes. 

He drew the casket from his breast. 
He bared his solemn brow ; 

Oh, Kingliest of Kingliest, 
Go first in battle now ! 



LOYAL. 125 

Where leads my Lord of Bruce, the sword 

Of Douglas shall not stay ! 
Forward, and to the feet of Christ 

I follow thee to-day. 

The casket flashed! The Battle clashed, 
Thundered and rolled away ; 
And dead above the heart of Bruce 
The heart of Douglas lay. 

"Loyal!" Methinks the antique mould 
Is lost! Or Theirs alone. 
Who sheltered Freedom's heart of gold 
Like Douglas with their own. 



(By permission of the Neale Publishing Co., and J. B. 
Lippincott Co.) 



GEORGE WASHINGTON. 

The "Father of His Country" was born in Westmore- 
land County, Virginia, February 22, 1732. He had but lit- 
tle education. At sixteen he became public surveyor. He 
served as aide to General Braddock in the French and 
Indian War. He vv^as a member of the Virginia Legisla- 
ture, a delegate to the two Continental Congresses, Com- 
mander of the Continental Armies; was president of the 
Convention of 1787, and the first President of the United 
States, serving two terms, and would have been elected to 
a third term but refused to remain in office any longer, 
alleging that a too long continuance in office was contrary 
to the democratic spirit of our Constitution. 

George Washington is deserving of all the praise that 
has been lavished upon him, and the more we study the 
history of his life and times the more we realize that he 
was the great and directing power that won for the Colo- 
nies their freedom. His patience, perseverance, diplomacy, 
statesmanship, military skill, the lofty mindedness of the 
man, and his exalted patriotism and love of freedom loom 
larger and larger as we come more into his presence. 

Trent says of Washington's writings that the student 
of literature will turn to them, "since he not merely did 
noble deeds, but uttered and recorded noble words, which 
will stir mankind as long as sublime characters inspire 
reverent admiration." 

His works, collected by Sparks, fill twelve large volumes 
with their Messages; State Papers; Letters, and Speeches. 




'a^^^,^^ 




RULES OF CIVILITY, 127 



RULES OF CIVILITY AND DECENT BE- 
HAVIOUR IN COMPANY AND 
CONVERSATION. 

(These rules were collected by Washington when he was little 
more than thirteen years of age.) 

1. Show not yourself glad at the misfortune 
of another, though he were your enemy. 

2. When a man does all he can, though it suc- 
ceeds not well, blame not him that did it. 

3. Wherein you reprove another be unblam- 
able yourself, for example is more prevalent than 
precepts. 

4. Be not hasty to believe flying reports to the 
disparagement of any. 

5. Play not the peacock, looking everywhere 
about you to see if you be well decked, if your 
shoes fit well, if your stockings sit neatly, and 
clothes handsomely. 

6. Associate yourself v^ith men of good qual- 
ity, if you esteem your own reputation, for it is 
better to be alone than in bad company. 

7. Speak not injurious words neither in jest 
nor earnest ; scoff at none, although they give occa- 
sion. 

8. Undertake not what you cannot perform, 
but be careful to keep your promise. 

9. Let your recreations be manful, not sinful. 

10. Labor to keep alive in your breast that 
little spark of celestial fire called conscience. 



128 GEORGE WASHINGTON, 



A SURVEYING EXPEDITION. 

FROM 

THE DIARY OF WASHINGTON WHEN SIX- 
TEEN YEARS OLD. 

March 13th. — Rode to his Lordship's (Lord 
Fairfax's) quarter. About four miles higher up 
the River Shenandoah we went through most beau- 
tiful groves of sugar trees, and spent the best part 
of the day in admiring the trees and richness of 
the land. 

14th. — We sent our baggage to Captain Hite's, 
near Fredericktown (afterwards Winchester), 
and went ourselves down the river about sixteen 
miles (the land exceedingly rich all the way, pro- 
ducing abundance of grain, hemp, and tobacco), 
in order to lay off some land on Gate's Marsh and 
Long Marsh. 

15th. — Worked hard till night, and then re- 
turned. After supper we were lighted into a 
room, and I, not being so good a woodsman as the 
rest, stripped myself very orderly and went into 
the bed, as they called it, when, to my surprise, I 
found it to be nothing but a little straw matted to- 
gether, without sheet or anything else but only one 
threadbare blanket, with double its weight of dirt. 
I was glad to get up and put on my clothes, and lie 
as my companions did. Had we not been very tired 
I am sure we should not have slept much that 
night. I made a promise to sleep so no more. 



A SURVEYING EXPEDITION. 129 

choosing rather to sleep in the open air before 
a fire. 

18th. — We traveled to Thomas Berwick's, on 
the Potomac, where we found the river exceed- 
ingly high, by reason of the great rains that had 
fallen among the Alleghanies. They told us it 
would not be fordable for several days, it being 
now six feet higher than usual, and rising. We 
agreed to stay till Monday. We this day called 
to see the famed Warm Springs. We camped out 
in the field this night. 

20th. — Finding the river not much abated, we, 
in the evening, swam our horses over to the Mary- 
land side. 

21st. — We went over in a canoe and traveled up 
the Maryland side all day in a continued rain to 
Colonel Cresap's, over against the mouth of the 
South Branch, about forty miles from our place 
of starting in the morning, and over the worst 
road I believe that ever was trod by man or beast. 

23rd. — Rained till about two o'clock, and then 
cleared up, when we were agreeably surprised at 
the sight of more than thirty Indians coming from 
war with only one scalp. We had some stores 
with us, of which we gave them a part. This, 
elevating their spirits, put them in the humor of 
dancing. We then had a war-dance. After 
clearing a large space and making a great fire in 
the middle, the men seated themselves around it, 
and the speaker made a grand speech, telling them 
in what manner they were to dance. After he had 
finished, the best dancer jumped up, as one awak- 
ened from sleep, and ran and jumped about the 



130 GEORGE WASHINGTON. 

ring in a most comical manner. He was followed 
by the rest. Then began their music, which was 
performed with a pot half full of water and a 
deerskin stretched tight over it and a gourd with 
some shot in it to rattle, and a piece of horse's tail 
tied to it to make it look fine. One person kept 
rattling and another drumming all the while they 
were dancing. 

25th. — Left Cresap's, and ^ent up to the mouth 
of Patterson's Creek. There we swam our horses 
over the Potomac and went over ourselves in a 
canoe, and traveled fifteen miles, where we 
camped. 

26th. — Traveled up to Solomon Hedge's, Es- 
quire, one of his Majesty's justices of the peace 
in the County of Frederic, where we camped. 
When we came to supper there was neither a knife 
on the table, nor a fork to eat with ; but, as good 
luck would have it, we had knives of our own. 

29th. — This morning went out and surveyed 
five hundred acres of land. Shot two wild turkeys. 

30th. — Began our intended business of laying 
off lots. 

April 2nd. — A blowing, rainy night! Our 
straw, upon which we were lying, took fire, but 
I was luckily preserved by one of our men awak- 
ing when it was in a flame. We have run off four 
lots this day. 



THOMAS HART BENTON. 

Thomas Hart Benton was born in Orange County, 
North Carolina, March 14, 1872, and died in Washington, 
D. C, April 10, 1858. When he was about eight years of 
age his father died, and his mother had much difficulty 
in giving him a partial education. Before he could finish 
his course at the University of North Carolina she found 
it necessary to take him, as her chief support for her large 
family, to Teinnessee. There on the edge of civilization, 
where the settler and the Indian still disputed for the pos- 
session of the land, she owned a large tract in the wil- 
derness. 

Benton studied law under St. George Tucker, and be- 
gan to practice as the protege of Andrew Jackson. 

He served in the war of 1812, part of the time as 
Jackson's aide. 

In 1815 he moved to St. Louis, Mo., was elected one of 
the Senators when Missouri was admitted to the Union, 
and served in the Senate for thirty years. His life was a 
most picturesque one, with its struggles of a pioneer, its 
duels, its strong love for Jackson, and its bitter hatreds. 

He has written Thirty Years' View and Abridgment 
of the Debates of Congress. His speeches were calm, de- 
liberative and argumentative. 



THE VISIT OF LAFAYETTE TO THE UNITED 
STATES IN 1824. 

In the summer of this year General Lafayette, 
accompanied by his son, Mr. George Washington 
Lafayette, and under an invitation from the Presi- 
dent, revisited the United States after a lapse of 



132 THOMAS HART BENTON, 

forty years. He was received with unbounded 
honor, affection and gratitude by the American 
people. To the survivors of the Revolution it was 
the return of a brother; to the new generation, 
born since that time, it was the apparition of an 
historical character, familiar from the cradle, and 
combining all the titles to love, admiration, grati- 
tude, enthusiasm, which could act upon the heart 
and the imagination of the young and the ardent. 
He visited every State in the Union, doubled in 
number since, as the friend and pupil of Washing- 
ton ; he had spilt his blood and lavished his fortune 
for their independence. His progress through 
the States was a triumphal procession, such as no 
Roman ever led up — a procession not through a 
city, but over a continent — followed, not by cap- 
tives in chains of iron, but by a nation in the bonds 
of affection. To him it was an unexpected and 
overpowering reception. His modest estimate of 
himself had not allowed him to suppose that he 
was to electrify a continent. He expected kindness 
but not enthusiasm. He expected to meet with sur- 
viving friends — not to rouse a young generation. 
As he approached the harbor of New York he made 
inquiry of some acquaintance to know whether 
he could find a hack to convey him to a hotel. Illus- 
trious man, and modest as illustrious ! Little did 
he know that all America was on foot to receive 
him — to take possession of him the moment he 
touched her soil; to fetch and to carry him; to 
feast and applaud him ; to make him the guest of 
cities, States and the nation, as long as he could 
be detained. Many were the happy meetings which 
he had with old comrades, survivors for near half 



THE VISIT OF LAFAYETTE. 133 

a century of their early hardships and dangers, 
and most grateful to his heart it was to see them, 
so many of them, exceptions to the maxim which 
denies to the beginners of revolutions the good for- 
tune to conclude them (and of which maxim his 
own country had just been so sad an exemplifica- 
tion), and to see his old ciimrades not only con- 
clude the one they began, but live to enjoy its 
fruits and honors. Three of his old associates he 
found ex-presidents (Adams, Jefferson and Madi- 
son), enjoying the respect and affection of their 
country, after having reached its highest honors. 
Another and the last one that Time would admit to 
the presidency (Mr. Monroe) now in the presi- 
dential chair, and inviting him to revisit the land 
of his adoption. Many of his early associates seen 
in the two Houses of Congress, many in the State 
governments, and many more in all the walks of 
private life, respected for their characters and ven- 
erated for their patriotic services. He was re- 
ceived in both Houses of Congress with equal 
honor, but the Houses did not limit them- 
selves to honors; they added substantial rewards 
for long past services and sacrifices — two hun- 
dred thousand dollars in money, and twenty- 
four thousand acres of fertile lands in Florida. 
These noble grants did not pass without objection 
— objection to the principle, not to the amount. 
The ingratitude of republics is the theme of any 
declaimer ; it required a Tacitus to say that grati- 
tude was the death of republics and the birth of 
monarchies, and it belongs to the people of the 
United States to exhibit an exception to that pro- 
found remark (as they do to so many other lessons 



134 THOMAS HART BENTON. 

of history) , and show a young republic that knows 
how to be grateful without being unwise, and is 
able to pay the debt of gratitude without giving its 
liberties in the discharge of the obligation. The 
venerable Mr. Macon, yielding to no one in love and 
admiration of Lafayette and appreciation of his 
services and sacrifices in the American cause, op- 
posed the grants in the Senate, and did it with the 
honesty of purpose and the simplicity of language 
which distinguished all the acts of his life. He 
said it was with painful reluctance that he felt 
himself obliged to oppose his voice to the passage 
of this bill. He admitted, to the full extent claimed 
for them, the great and meritorious services of 
General Lafayette, and he did not object to the pre- 
cise sum which this bill proposed to award him, 
but he objected to the bill on this ground : he con- 
sidered General Lafayette, to all intents and pur- 
poses, as having been, during our revolution, a son 
adopted into the family, taken into the household 
and placed in every respect on the same footing 
with the other sons of the same family. To treat 
him as others were treated was all, in this view of 
his relation to us, that could be required, and this 
had been done. "That General Lafayette made 
great sacrifices and spent much of his money in the 
service of this country," said Mr. M., ''I as firmly 
believe as I do any other thing under the sun. I 
have no doubt that every faculty of his mind and 
body was exerted in the Revolutionary war, in de- 
fense of this country ; but this was equally the case 
with all the sons of the family. Many native 
Americans spent their all, made great sacrifices 
and devoted their lives in the same cause." This 



THE VISIT OF LAFAYETTE. 135 

was the ground of his objection to this bill, which, 
he repeated, it was as disagreeable to him to state 
as it could be to the Senate to hear. He did not 
mean to take up the time of the Senate in debate 
upon the principle of the bill, or to move any 
amendment to it. He admitted that, when such 
things were done, they should be done with a free 
hand. It was to the principle of the bill, therefore, 
and not to the sum proposed to be given by it, that 
he objected. 

The ardent Mr. Hayne, of South Carolina, re- 
porter of the bill in the Senate, replied to the ob- 
jections, and first showed from history (not from 
Lafayette, who would have nothing to do with the 
proposed grant) his advances, losses and sacri- 
fices in our cause. He had expended for the 
American service in six years, from 1777 to 1783, 
the sum of 700,000 francs ($140,000), and under 
what circumstances? A foreigner owing us noth- 
ing and throwing his fortune into the scale with 
his life, to be lavished in our cause. He left the en- 
joyments of rank and fortune and the endearments 
of his family to come and serve in our almost desti- 
tute armies, and without pay. He equipped and 
armed a regiment for our service, and freighted a 
vessel to us, loaded with arms and munitions. It 
was not until the year 1794, when almost ruined by 
the French revolution and by his efforts in the 
cause of liberty, that he would receive the naked 
pay, without interest, of a general officer for the 
time he had served with us. He was entitled to 
land as one of the officers of the Revolution, and 
11,500 acres was granted to him, to be located on 
any of the public lands of the United States. His 

(10) 



136 THOMAS HART BENTON, 

agent located 1,000 acres adjoining the city of New 
Orleans, and Congress afterwards, not being in- 
formed of the location, granted the same ground to 
the city of New Orleans. His location was valid 
and he was so informed ; but he refused to adhere 
to it, saying that he would have no contest with 
any portion of the American people, and ordered 
the location to be removed, which was done, and 
carried upon ground of little value — thus giving 
up what was then worth $50,000 and now $500,- 
000. These were his moneyed advances, losses and 
sacrifices, great in themselves, and of great value 
to our cause, but perhaps exceeded by the moral 
effect of his example in joining us and his influ- 
ence with the king and ministry, which procured 
us the alliance of France. 

The grants were voted with great unanimity, 
and with the general concurrence of the American 
people. Mr. Jefferson was warmly for them, giv- 
ing as a reason in a conversation with me while the 
grants were depending (for the bill was passed in 
the Christmas holidays, when I had gone to Vir- 
ginia and took the opportunity to call upon that 
great man), which showed his regard for liberty 
abroad as well as at home, and his far-seeing sa- 
gacity into future events : He said there would be 
a change in France, and Lafayette would be at the 
head of it and ought to be easy and independent in 
his circumstances, to be able to act efficiently in 
conducting the movement. This he said to me on 
Christmas day, 1824. Six years afterwards this 
view into futurity was verified. The old Bourbons 
had to retire: the Duke of Orleans, a brave gen- 
eral in the republican armies, at the commence- 



THE VISIT OF LAFAYETTE, 137 

ment of the revolution, was handed to the throne 
by Lafayette and became the "citizen, king, sur- 
rounded by republican institutions." And in this 
Lafayette was consistent and sincere. He was a 
republican himself, but deemed a constitutional 
monarchy the proper government for France, and 
labored for that form in the person of Louis XVI, 
as well as in that of Louis Philippe. 

Loaded with honors and with every feeling of 
his heart gratified in the noble reception he had 
met in the country of his adoption, Lafayette re- 
turned to the country of his birth the following 
summer, still as the guest of the United States and 
under its flag. He was carried back in a national 
ship of war, the new frigate Brandy wine — a deli- 
cate compliment (in the name and selection of the 
ship) from the new President, Mr. Adams, Lafa- 
yette having wet with his blood the sanguinary 
battle field which takes its name from the little 
stream which gave it first to the field and then to 
the frigate. Mr. Monroe, then a subaltern in the 
service of the United States, was wounded at the 
same time. How honorable to themselves and to 
the American people that nearly fifty years after- 
wards they should again appear together and in 
exalted station ; one as President, inviting the 
other to the great republic and signing the acts 
which testified a nation's gratitude ; the other as a 
patriot hero, tried in the revolutions of two coun- 
tries and resplendent in the glory of virtuous and 
consistent fame. 



WILLIAM HENRY HOLCOMBE. 

Dr. Holcombe was born in Lynchburg, Va., May 29, 
1825, and died in New Orleans, November 28, 1893. He 
practiced medicine for a time in Cincinnati, Ohio, then 
moved to the South, finally settling in New Orleans, where 
he became one of the most eminent of the practitioners of 
Homeopathy that that city has known. He was a constant 
writer and has published many books. His writings, espe- 
cially verse, display great delicacy of feeling and a refined 
literary taste. 

Some of his books are In Both Worlds ; The Other Life ; 
Southern Voices; Poems, and A Mystery of New Orleans. 



THE STREAMLET'S WARNING. 

O ! Hasten, pretty Streamlet ! 

O ! hasten to the sea, 
Nor dally in this meadow, 

Elysian though it be. 

The summer months are coming, 
The sun will rise in wrath. 

And pour his burning arrows 
Upon thy winding path. 

The sands will yawn to take thee. 
Thy rocks will all be dry ; 

Thy waves no more will whisper 
To the flowerets blooming by. 



THE STREAMLETS WARNING. 139 

Delay not in this meadow, 

Elysian though it be ; 
But hasten, pretty Streamlet ! 

hasten to the sea ! 

I cannot leave this meadow. 

And hasten to the sea ; 
I cannot leave this meadow 

With its April witchery. 

For the sun is bright and gentle, 

His kiss is sweet and warm, 
And he mirrors in my bosom, 

The glory of his form. 

Upon my banks so mossy 

The Roses have their seat — 
The Roses and the Lilies — 

And I sparkle at their feet. 

I sing to them so softly 

They bend and smile to me ; 
0, 1 can not leave this meadow 

Nor hasten to the sea ; 
I can never leave this meadow 

With its April witchery. 



140 WILLIAM HENRY HOLCOMBE, 



THE DESECRATED CHAPEL. 
A Swedish Legend 

A CHAPEL by the Baltic shore 

Stood on a knoll of green, 
Far out at sea, a league or more, 

Its gilded spire was seen. 

But wicked Barons of the land 
Drove forth the saintly priest, 

And met upon that quiet strand 
To keep unbridled feast. 

They tore the pictures from the wall, 
They broke the sacred spire, 

The altar and the benches all 
To feed th' unholy fire. 

They rode the ring, the spear they sped, 
They broke the glittering lance, 

They quaffed the wine and gaily led 
Their ladies to the dance. 

But while they stunned the waning night 
With sound of boisterous glee, 

A storm arose, with hoarded might. 
And burst upon the sea. 

The sea forsook its ancient path. 

And rolled upon the shore ; 
It lashed the sloping hills in wrath. 

And inland sent its roar. 



THE DESECRATED CHAPEL. 141 

And when the waves sank to their place, 

Of chapel on the green, 
Of lords or ladies not a trace 

Was longer to be seen. 

But still they say sometimes a light 

Gleams upward from the sea ; 
The Baltic sailor hears at night 

Mysterious melody. 

He gazes down the placid deep 

Enchanted at his oar, 
But lo ! the sky's bespangled steep 

Is mirrored there no more. 

The knoll is seen, the torches glance, 

The chapel reappears ; 
Fair ladies tricked for merry dance. 

And knights with golden spears. 

They kneel upon the emerald sward, 
And heavenward fix their eyes, 

Whilst ''misereres" to the Lord 
In solemn chant arise. 

So weirdly from the buried shore 

Gleams up the fearful light, 
The Baltic sailor bends his oar. 

And flies the phantom sight. 

(By permission of Mrs. Gayle Aiken and J. B. Lippincott Co.) 



HENRY CLAY. 

Henry Clay was born in Hanover County, Virginia, 
April 12, 1777, died in Washing-ton, June 29, 1852, and 
was buried in Lexington, Ky. 

He had a very imperfect education. After studying 
law he moved to Kentucky. He was, by that State, sent 
to the Legislature and to the House of Representatives for 
about fourteen years. For thirteen years he was the 
Speaker of the House. He served in the United States 
Senate for about sixteen years. He was one of our Com- 
missioners who signed the Treaty of Ghent. 

He was the author of the Missouri Compromise Meas- 
ure; The Tariff Compromise of 1832, and the Bill for Pro- 
tection and Internal Improvements. His efforts to pre- 
serve the peace between the two sections of the country 
won for him the name "The Great Pacificator." 

He was the author of the often-repeated saying, "I 
know no North, no South, no East, no West." 

A large number of his Speeches have been collected and 
published. 



ADDRESS TO LAFAYETTE. 

Delivered by Henry Clay, 

speaker of the house of representatives. 

December 10, 1824. 

General : The House of Representatives of the 
United States, impelled alike by its own feelings 
and by those of the whole American people, could 
not have assigned to me a more gratifying duty 
than that of presenting to you cordial congratula- 
tions upon the occasion of your recent arrival in 
the United States in compliance with the wishes of 



ADDRESS TO LAFAYETTE. 143 

Congress, and to assure you of the very high satis- 
faction which your presence affords on this early 
theatre of your glory and renown. Although but 
few of the members who compose this body shared 
with you in the war of our revolution, all have, 
from impartial history or from faithful tradition, 
a knowledge of the perils, the sufferings and the 
sacrifices which you voluntarily encountered, and 
the signal services in America and in Europe 
which you performed for an infant, a distant and 
an alien people, and all feel and own the very great 
extent of the obligations under which you have 
placed our country. But the relations in which you 
have ever stood to the United States, interesting 
and important as they have been, do not constitute 
the only motive of the respect and admiration 
which the House of Representatives entertains for 
you. Your consistency of character, your uniform 
devotion to regulated liberty, in all the vicissitudes 
of a long and arduous life, also command its ad- 
miration. During all the recent convulsions of 
Europe, and after the dispersion of every political 
storm the people of the United States have beheld 
you, true to your old principles, firm and erect, 
cheering and animating with your well-known 
voice the votaries of liberty, its faithful and fear- 
less champion, ready to shed the last drop of that 
blood which here you so freely and nobly spilt in 
the same holy cause. 

The vain wish has been sometimes indulged 
that Providence would allow the patriot, after 
death, to return to his country and to contemplate 
the intermediate changes which had taken place; 
to view the forests felled, the cities built, the 



144 HENRY CLAY, 

mountains leveled, the canals cut, the highways 
constructed, the progress of the arts, the advance- 
ment of learning and the increase of population. 
General, your present visit to the United States is 
a realization of the consoling object of that wish. 
You are in the midst of posterity. Everywhere you 
must have been struck with the great changes, 
physical and moral, which have occurred since you 
left us. Even this very city (Washington), bear- 
ing a venerated name, alike endeared to you and to 
us, has since emerged from the forest which then 
covered its site. In one respect you behold us un- 
altered, and this is in the sentiment of continued 
devotion to liberty and of ardent affection and pro- 
found gratitude to your departed friend, the father 
of his country, and to you and to your illustrious 
associates in the field and in the cabinet, for the 
multiplied blessings which surround us, and for 
the very privilege of addressing you, which I now 
exercise. This sentiment, now fondly cherished by 
more than ten millions of people, will be trans- 
mitted, with unabated vigor, down the tide of 
time, through the countless millions, who are des- 
tined to inhabit this continent, to the latest pos- 
terity. 



GRACE ELIZABETH KING. 

Grace King was bom in New Orleans in 1852. Her 
earlier years were divided between the city and the family 
plantation. Under her father's tutelage she cultivated a 
desire for reading, and acquired the habit of observation 
that has borne fruit in the vivid pictures of both city and 
country scenes, characters and customs that make her 
stories so real and lifelike. 

Phelps says of her fiction, and especially of her short 
stories: "Her stories are bits of significant life told simply, 
truthfully and with that clear directness which implies art 
of the highest kind." 

In the writing of history, her work has been facilitated 
by her knowledge of both the French and Spanish lan- 
guages and her opportunity for the study of the archives 
of those countries during her frequent visits to Europe. 

Among her works are Bienville; De Soto in the Land 
of Florida; New Orleans, the Place and the People; Mon- 
sieur Motte; Tales of a Time and Place, and Balcony 
Stories. 



A DRAMA OF THREE. 

FROM 

BALCONY STORIES. 

It was a regular dramatic performance every 
first of the month in the little cottage of the old 
General and Madame B . 

It began with the waking up of the General by 
his wife, standing at the bedside with a cup of 
black coffee. 



146 GRACE ELIZABETH KING. 

"He ! Ah ! Oh, Honorine ! Yes ; the first of 
the month, and affairs — affairs to be transacted." 

On those mornings when affairs were to be 
transacted there was not much leisure for the 
household; and it was Honorine who constituted 
the household. Not the old dressing-gown and 
slippers, the old, old trousers, and the ante-dilu- 
vian neck-foulard of other days! Far from it. 
It was a case of warm water (with even a fling of 
cologne in it) , of the trimming of beard and mus- 
tache by Honorine, and the black broadcloth suit, 
and the brown satin stock, and that ease of man- 
ner and air of self-satisfaction which no one could 
possess or asume like the old General. Whether 
he possessed or assumed it is an uncertainty which 
hung over the fine manners of all the gentlemen of 
his day, who were kept through their youth in 
Paris to cultivate elegance and an education. 

It was also something of a gala day for 
Madame la General, too, as it must be a gala day 
for all old wives to see their husbands pranked in 
all the manners and graces that had conquered 
their maidenhood, and exhaling once more that 
ambrosial fragrance which once so well incensed 
their compelling presence. 

Ah, to the end a woman loves to celebrate her 
conquest ! It is the last touch of misfortune with 
her to lose in the old, the ugly, and the common- 
place her youthful lord and master. If one could 
look under the gray hairs and wrinkles with which 
time thatches old women, one would be surprised 
to see the flutterings, the quiverings, the thrills, 
the emotions, the coals of the heart-fires which 
death alone extinguishes when he commands the 
tenant to vacate. 



A DRAMA OF THREE. 147 

Honorine's hands chilled with the ice of sixteen 
as she approached scissors to the white mustache 
and beard. When her finger-tips brushed those 
lips, still well formed and roseate, she felt it, 
strange to say, on her lips. When she asperged 
the warm water with cologne — it was her secret 
delight and greatest effort of economy to buy this 
cologne — she always had one little moment of what 
she called faintness — that faintness which had 
veiled her eyes and chained her hands, and stilled 
her throbbing bosom when as a bride she came 
from the church with him. It was then she noticed 
the faint fragrance of the cologne bath. The lips 
would open as they did then, and she would stand 
for a moment and think thoughts to which, it must 
be confessed, she looked forward from month to 
month. What a man he had been ! 

When the General had completed — let it be 
called no less than the ceremony of — his toilet, 
he took his chocolate and his French rolls. Hon- 
orine could not imagine him breakfasting on any- 
thing but French rolls. Then he sat himself in 
his large armchair before his escritoire and began 
transacting his affairs with his usual : 

''But where is that idiot, that dolt, that slug- 
gard, that snail, with my mail?" 

Honorine, busy in the breakfast-room : 
''In a moment, husband. In a moment." 
"But he should be here now. It is the first of 
the month, it is nine o'clock, I am ready ; he should 
be here." 

"It is not yet nine o'clock, husband." 
"Not yet nine ! Not yet nine ! Am I not up? 
Am I not dressed ? Have I not breakfasted before 
nine?" 



148 GRACE ELIZABETH KING. 

'That is so, husband. That is so." 

Honorine's voice, prompt in cheerful acqui- 
escence, came from the next room, where she was 
washing his cup, saucer and spoon. 

"It is getting worse and worse every day. I 
tell you, Honorine, Pompey must be discharged. 
He is worthless. He is trifling. Discharge him ! 
Discharge him ! Do not have him about ! Chase 
him out of the yard! Chase him as soon as he 
makes his appearance! Do you hear, Honorine?" 

*'You must have a little patience, husband." 

It was perhaps the only reproach one could 
make to Madame Honorine that she never learned 
by experience. 

"Patience! Patience! Patience is the inven- 
tion of dullards and sluggards. In a well-regu- 
lated world there should be no need of such a 
thing as patience. Patience should be punished 
as a crime, or at least as a breach of the peace. 
Wherever patience is found police investigation 
should be made as for smallpox. Patience! Pa- 
tience! I never heard the word, I assure you; I 
never heard the word in Paris. What do you think 
would be said there to the messenger who craved 
patience of you ? Oh, they know too well in Paris, 
a rataplan from the walking stick on his back that 
would be the answer; and a *My good fellow, we 
are not hiring professors of patience, but legs.' " 

"But, husband, you must remember we do not 
hire Pompey. He only does it to oblige us, out of 
his kindness." 

"Oblige us ! Oblige me ! Kindness ! A negro 
oblige me! Kind to me! That is it; that is it. 
That is the way to talk under the new regime. 



A DRAMA OF THREE. 149 

It is a favor, and oblige, and education, and mon- 
sieur, and madame, now. What child's play to 
call this a country — a government! I would not 
be surprised" — ^jumping to his next position on 
this ever-recurring first of the month theme — "I 
would not be surprised if Pompey has failed to 
find the letter in the box. How do I know that the 
mail has not been tampered with? From day to 
day I expect to hear it. What is to prevent? 
Who is to interpose ? The honesty of the officials ? 
Honesty of the officials, that is good ! What a 
farce — honesty of officials! That is evidently 
what has happened. The thought has not oc- 
curred to me in vain. Pompey has gone. He has 
not found the letter, and — well, that is the end." 

But the General had still another theory to 
account for the delay in the appearance of his mail 
which he always posed abruptly after the exhaus- 
tion of the arraignment of the postoffice. 

**And why not Journel?" Journel was their 
landlord, a fellow of means but no extraction, and 
a favorite aversion of the old gentleman's. 

"Journel himself? You think he is above it, 
eh ? You think Journel would not do such a thing? 
Ha ! your simplicity, Honorine ; your simplicity is 
incredible. It is miraculous. I tell you I have 
known the Journels from father to son for, yes, for 
seventy-five years. Was not his grandfather the 
overseer on my father's plantation ? I was not five 
years old when I began to know the Journels. And 
this fellow, I know him better than he knows him- 
self. I know him as well as God knows him. I have 
made up my mind. I have made it up carefully 
that the first time that letter fails on the first of 
the month I shall have Journel arrested as a thief. 



150 GRACE ELIZABETH KING. 

I shall land him in the penitentiary. What you 
think? I shall submit to have my mail tampered 
with by a Journel ? Their contents appropriated ? 
What ! You think there was no coincidence in Jour- 
nel's offering me his postoffice box just the month 
before those letters began to arrive? You think 
he did not have some inkling of them ? Mark my 
words, Honorine, he did, by some of his subterra- 
nean methods. And all these five years he has 
been arranging his plans — that is all. He was 
arranging theft, which no doubt has been consum- 
mated to-day. Oh, I have regretted it, I assure 
you that I have regretted it, that I did not prompt- 
ly reject his proposition; that, in fact, I ever had 
anything to do with the fellow." 

It was almost invariably, so regularly do events 
run in this world, it was almost invariably that the 
negro messenger made his appearance at this 
point. For five years the General had perhaps not 
been interrupted as many times, either above or 
below the last sentence. The mail, or rather the 
letter, was opened and the usual amount — three 
ten-dollar bills — was carefully extracted and 
counted. And as if he scented the bills, even as 
the General said he did, within ten minutes after 
their delivery, Journel made his appearance to 
collect the rent. 

It could only have been in Paris, among that 
old retired nobility, who counted their names back, 
as they expressed it, ''to the days before the del- 
uge," that could have been acquired the proper 
manner of treating a plebeian landlord ; to meas- 
ure him with the eyes from head to foot ; to hand 
the rent — the ten-dollar bill — ^with the tips of the 
fingers ; to scorn a look at the humbly tendered re- 



A DRAMA OF THREE, 151 

ceipt; to say: 'The cistern needs repairing, the 
roof leaks ; I must warn you that unless such noti- 
fications meet with more prompt attention than in 
the past, you must look for another tenant," etc., 
in the monotonous tone of supremacy, and in the 
French, not of Journel's dictionary, nor of the 
dictionary of any such as he, but in the French of 
Racine and Corneille ; in the French of the above 
suggested circle, which inclosed the General's 
memory, if it had not inclosed, as he never tired 
of recounting, his star-like personality. 

A sheet of paper always infolded the bank- 
notes. It always bore, in fine but sexless tracery, 
"From one who owes you much.'' 

There, that was it, that sentence, which, like a 
locomotive, bore the General and his wife far on 
these firsts of the month to two opposite points 
of the horizon ; in fact, one from the other, "From 
one who owes you much." 

The old gentleman would toss the paper aside 
with the bill receipt. In the man to whom the 
bright New Orleans itself almost owed its bright- 
ness, it was a paltry act to search and pick for a 
debtor. Friends had betrayed and deserted him ; 
relatives had forgotten him ; merchants had failed 
with his money; bank presidents had stooped to 
deceive him ; for he was an old man, and had about 
run the gamut of human disappointments — a 
gamut that had begun with a C major of trust, 
hope, happiness and money. 

His political party had thrown him aside. 
Neither for ambassador, plenipotentiary, senator, 
congressman, not even for a clerkship, could he be 
nominated by it. Certes ! "From one who owed 
him much." He had fitted the cap to a new head, 

(11) 



152 GRACE ELIZABETH KING. 

the first of every month, for five years, and still 
the list was not exhausted. Indeed, it would have 
been hard for the General to look anywhere and 
not see some one whose obligations to him far ex- 
ceeded this thirty dollars a month. Could he avoid 
being happy with such eyes ? 

But poor Madame Honorine! She who gath- 
ered up the receipts, and the ''From one who owes 
you much"; who could at an instant's warning 
produce the particular ones for any month of the 
past half-decade; she kept them filed, not only in 
her armoir, but the scrawled papers, skewered, as 
it were, somewhere else, where women have from 
time immemorial skewered such unsigned papers. 
She was not original in her thoughts — no more, for 
the matter of that, than the General was.. Tapped 
at any time on the first of the month, then she 
would pause in her drudgery to reimpale her heart 
by a sight of the written characters on the scrap of 
paper ; her thoughts would have been found flow- 
ing thus, ''One can give everything, and yet be sure 
of nothing." 

When Madame Honorine said "everything," she 
did not, as women in such cases often do, exag- 
gerate. When she married the General she in 
reality gave the youth of sixteen, the beauty (ah, 
do not trust the denial of those wrinkles, the thin 
hair, the faded eyes!) of an angel, the dot of an 
heiress. Alas. It was too little at the time. Had 
she in her own person united all the youth, all the 
beauty, all the wealth, sprinkled parsimoniously so 
far and wide over all the women in this land, would 
she at that time have done aught else with this 
than immolate it on the burning pyre of the Gen- 
eral's affection? And yet be sure of nothing." 



A DRAMA OF THREE. 153 

It is not necessary, perhaps, to explain that 
last clause. It is very little consolation for wives 
that their husbands have forgotten, when some one 
else remembers. Some one else ! Ah ! there could 
be so many some one elses in the General's life, for 
in truth he had been irresistible to excess. But 
this was one particular some one else who had 
been faithful for five years. Which one? 

When Madame Honorine solves that enigma 
she has made up her mind how to act. 

As for Journel, it amuses him more and more. 
He would go away from the little cottage rubbing 
his hands with pleasure (he never saw Madame 
Honorine, by the way, only the General). He 
would have given far more than thirty dollars a 
month for this drama ; for he was not only rich, 
but a great joker. 

(By permission of Miss Grace King.) 



MADISON JULIUS CAWEIN. 

MADISON' Julius Cawein is one of the striking excep- 
tions to the present-day influence of commercialism. His 
appreciation of the beauties of nature, and the apparently 
inexhaustible poetic forms in which he has expressed that 
knowledge and love, hold out to us the hope that the art 
of the poet will even in this day renew its youth. 

Cawein was born in Kentucky in 1865, and made his 
home in Louisville until his death, December 7, 1914. 

His poems fill some fifteen volumes. 



RAIN AND WIND. 

I HEAR the hoofs of horses 

Galloping over the hill, 

Galloping on and galloping on, 

When all the night is shrill 

With wind and rain that beats the pane — 

And my soul with awe is still. 

For every dripping window 

Their headlong rush makes bound, 

Galloping up and galloping by, 

Then back again and around, 

Till the gusty roofs ring with their hoofs, 

And the draughty cellars sound. 



RAIN AND WIND, 155 

And then I hear black horsemen 

Hallooing in the night ; 

Hallooing and hallooing, 

They ride o'er vale and height, 

And the branches snap and the shutters clap 

With the fury of their flight. 

Then at each door a horseman, — 

With burly bearded lip 

Hallooing through the keyhole, — 

Pauses with cloak a-drip ; 

And the door-knob shakes and the panel quakes 

'Neath the anger of his whip. 

All night I hear their gallop, 

And their wild halloo's alarm; 

The tree-tops sound and vanes go round 

In forest and on farm ; 

But never a hair of a thing is there — 

Only the wind and the storm. 



156 MADISON JULIUS CAWEIN, 



WOOD-WORDS. 

The spirits of the forest, 
That to the winds give voice — 
I lie the livelong April day 
And wonder what it is they say 
That makes the leaves rejoice. 

The spirits of the forest, 
That breathe in bud and bloom — 
I walk within the black-haw brake 
And wonder how it is they make 
The bubbles of perfume. 

The spirits of the forest, 

That live in every spring — 

I lean above the brook's bright blue 

And wonder what it is they do 

That makes the water sing. 

The spirits of the forest. 
That haunt the sun's green glow — 
Down fungus ways of fern I steal 
And wonder what they can conceal 
In dews that twinkle so. 

The spirits of the forest. 
They hold me, heart and hand — 
And oh ! The bird they send by light, 
The jack-o'-lantern gleam by night, 
To guide to Fairyland ! 

(By permission of Mrs. Madison J. Cawein and 
John P. Morton & Co.) 



EDGAR ALLAN POE. 

This greatest of American writers, as he is declared to- 
be by the European critics and by a large number of our 
own men of letters, was born in Boston, January 19, 1809. 
His father came from a distinguished Baltimore family, 
and his mother, Elizabeth Arnold, was an English actress, 
a woman of exceptional beauty and possessed of most fas- 
cinating manners. Left an orphan when not quite three 
years of age, Poe was taken into the home of a Scotch 
merchant living in Richmond, Va. 

Poe was taken to Scotland, perhaps travelled on the con- 
tinent, and placed in an English school. After several 
years he was brought back to Richmond and lived in the 
comfortable surroundings of his kind protector's home. He 
became conspicuous at school by his remarkable intelli- 
gence, the thorough and systematic preparation for his 
work, and for his physical strength and dexterity in ath- 
letic sports. His sensitive nature was constantly wounded 
by the taunts or insinuations of his aristocratic school- 
mates, who could not forgive the fact that his mother was 
an actress and that he was a pensioner. 

Poe studied at the University of Virginia and at West 
Point. He drifted into bad habits, and Mr. Allan took him 
from college and put him into a business house. Poe ran 
away, joined the army for a while, drifted from one maga- 
zine to another, grew poorer and more morose and melan- 
choly. He married his child cousin, Virginia Clemm, whose 
death plunged him deeper still into an almost despairing 
gloom. His tragic death came in a Baltimore hospital, 
October 7, 1849. His faults have been greatly exaggerated 
by many of the other authors of his time, whose faults and 
follies he so mercilessly criticized. His wonderful combi- 
nation of a mathematical and poetic mind, of logic and 
romantic imagination, and the everpresent influence of an 



158 EDGAR ALLAN POE. 

overmastering love of the beautiful have given to Poe a 
quality that we find in no one else. 

While the number of his poems are few, he has written 
a considerable number of short stories, stories of the gro- 
tesque, of weird mysteries and detective stories — a new 
form of story invented by him. 

THE PIT AND THE PENDULUM. 

I was sick — sick unto death with that long 
agony ; and when they at length unbound me, and 
I was permitted to sit, I felt that my senses were 
leaving me. The sentence — the dread sentence of 
death — was the last of distinct accentuation which 
reached my ears. After that the sound of the in- 
quisitorial voices seemed merged in one dreamy in- 
determinate hum. It conveyed to my soul the idea 
of revolution — perhaps from its association in 
fancy with the burr of a mill-wheel. This only for 
a brief period, for presently I heard no more. Yet, 
for a while, I saw — but with how terrible an ex- 
aggeration! I saw the lips of the black-robed 
judges. They appeared to me white — whiter than 
the sheet upon which I trace these words — and 
thin even to grotesqueness ; thin with the intensity 
of their expression of firmness — of immovable 
resolution — of stern contempt of human torture. 
I saw that the decrees of what to me was Fate 
were still issuing from those lips. I saw them 
writhe with a deadly locution. I saw them fashion 
the syllables of my name ; and I shuddered because 
no sound succeeded. I saw, too, for a few moments 
of delirious horror, the soft and nearly impercept- 
ible waving of the sable draperies which en- 
wrapped the walls of the apartment. And then my 
vision fell upon the seven tall candles upon the 



THE PIT AND THE PEND UL UM. 159 

table. At first they wore the aspect of charity, and 
seemed white slender angels who would save me ; 
but then, all at once, there came a most deadly 
nausea over my spirit, and I felt every fibre in my 
frame thrill as if I had touched the wire of a gal- 
vanic battery, while the angel forms became mean- 
ingless spectres, with heads of flame, and I saw 
that from them there would be no help. And then 
there stole into my fancy, like a rich musical note, 
the thought of what sweet rest there must be in the 
grave. The thought came gently and stealthily, 
and it seemed long before it attained full apprecia- 
tion ; but just as my spirit came at length properly 
to feel and entertain it, the figures of the judges 
vanished, as if magically, from before me ; the tall 
candles sank into nothingness ; their flames went 
out utterly ; the blackness of darkness supervened ; 
all sensations appeared swallowed up in a mad 
rushing descent as of the soul into Hades. Then 
silence, and stillness, and night were the universe. 
I had swooned ; but still will not say that all of 
consciousness was lost. What of it remained I will 
not attempt to define, or even to describe ; yet all 
was not lost. In the deepest slumber — no ! In de- 
lirum — no ! In a swoon — no ! In death — no ! even 
in the grave all is not lost. Else there is no im- 
mortality for man. Arousing from the most pro- 
found of slumbers, we break the gossamer web of 
some dream. Yet in a second afterward (so frail 
may that web have been) we remember not that 
we have dreamed. In the return to life from the 
swoon there are two stages ; first, that of the sense 
of mental or spiritual ; secondly, that of the sense 
of physical, existence. It seems probable that if, 



160 EDGAR ALLAN POE. 

upon reaching the second stage, we could recall the 
impressions of the first, we should find these im- 
pressions eloquent in memories of the gulf beyond. 
And that gulf is — what? How at least shall we 
distinguish its shadows from those of the tomb? 
But if the impressions of what I have termed the 
first stage, are not at will, recalled, yet, after long 
interval, do they not come unbidden, while we 
marvel whence they come? He who has never 
swooned, is not he who finds strange palaces and 
wildly familiar faces in coals that glow ; is not he 
who beholds floating in mid-air the sad visions 
that the many may not view ; is not he who ponders 
over the perfume of some novel flower; is not he 
whose brain grows bewildered with the meaning 
of some musical cadence which has never before 
arrested his attention. 

Amid frequent and thoughtful endeavors to 
remember, amid earnest struggles to regather 
some token of the state of seeming nothingness 
into which my soul had lapsed, there have been mo- 
ments when I have dreamed of success ; there have- 
been brief, very brief periods when I conjured up 
remembrances which the lucid reason of a later 
epoch assures me could have had reference only to 
that condition of seeming unconsciousness. These 
shadows of memory tell, indistinctly, of tall figures 
that lifted and bore me in silence down — down — 
still down — till a hideous dizziness oppressed me 
at the mere idea of the interminableness of the de- 
scent. They tell also of a vague horror at my 
heart, on account of that heart's unnatural still- 
ness. Then comes a sense of sudden motionless- 
ness throughout all things; as if those who bore 



THE PIT AND THE PEND UL UM, 161 

me (a ghastly train) had outrun, in their descent, 
the limbs of the limitless, and paused from the 
wearisomeness of their toil. After this I call to 
mind flatness and dampness ; and then all is mad- 
ness — ^the madness of a memory which busies it- 
self among forbidden things. 

Very suddenly there came back to my soul mo- 
tion and sound — the tumultuous motion of my 
heart, and in my ears, the sound of its beating. 
There was a pause in which all is blank. Then 
again sound, and motion, and touch — a tingling 
sensation pervading my frame. Then the mere 
consciousness of existence, without thought — a 
condition which lasted long. Then very suddenly, 
thought, and shuddering terror, and earnest en- 
deavour to comprehend my true state. Then a 
strong desire to lapse into insensibility. Then 
a rushing revival of soul and a successful effort 
to move. And now a full memory of the trial, 
of the judges, of the sable draperies, of the 
sentence, of the sickness, of the swoon. Then en- 
tire f orgetf ulness of all that followed ; of all that 
a later day and much earnestness of endeavour 
have enabled me vaguely to recall. 

So far, I had not opened my eyes. I felt that I 
lay upon my back unbound. I reached out my 
hand, and it fell heavily upon something damp and 
hard. There I suffered it to remain for many 
minutes, while I strove to imagine where and 
what I could be. I longed, yet dared not, to employ 
my vision. I dreaded the first glance at objects 
around me. It was not that I feared to look upon 
things horrible, but that I grew aghast lest there 
should be nothing to see. At length, with a wild 



162 EDGAR ALLAN POE, 

desperation at heart, I quickly unclosed my eyes. 
My worst thoughts, then, were confirmed. The 
blackness of eternal night encompassed me. I 
struggled for breath. The intensity of the dark- 
ness seemed to oppress and stifle me. The at- 
mosphere was intolerably close. I still lay quietly 
and made effort to exercise my reason. I brought 
to mind the inquisitorial proceedings, and at- 
tempted from that point to deduce my real condi- 
tion. The sentence had passed ; and it appeared to 
me that a very long interval of time had since 
elapsed. Yet not for a moment did I suppose my- 
self actually dead. Such a supposition, notwith- 
standing what we read in fiction, is altogether in- 
consistent with real existence ; — but where and in 
what state was I? The condemned to death, I 
knew, perished usually at the auto-da-fes, and one 
of these had been held on the very night of the day 
of my trial. Had I been remanded to my dungeon, 
to await the next sacrifice, which would not take 
place for many months ? This I at once saw could 
not be. Victims had been in immediate demand. 
Moreover, my dungeon, as well as all the con- 
demned cells at Toledo, had stone floors, and light 
was not altogether excluded. 

A fearful idea now suddenly drove the blood in 
torrents upon my heart, and for a brief period I 
once more relapsed into insensibility. Upon recov- 
ering, I at once started to my feet, trembling con- 
vulsively in every fibre. I thrust my arms wildly 
above and around me in all directions. I felt noth- 
ing; yet dreaded to move a step, lest I should be 
impeded by the walls of a tomb. Perspiration 
burst from every pore, and stood in cold big beads 



THE PIT AND THE PEND UL UM, 16a 

at length intolerable, and I cautiously moved for- 
ward, with my arms extended, and my eyes strain- 
ing from their sockets in the hope of catching some 
faint ray of light. I proceeded for many paces; 
but still all was blackness and vacancy. I breathed 
more freely. It seemed evident that mine was not, 
at least, the most hideous of fates. 

And now, as I still continued to step cautiously 
onward, there came thronging upon my recollec-- 
tion a thousand vague rumors of the horrors of 
Toledo. Of the dungeons there had been strange 
things narrated — fables I had always deemed 
them — but yet strange, and too ghastly to repeat, 
save in a whisper. Was I left to perish of starva- 
tion in this subterranean world of darkness; or 
what fate, perhaps even more fearful, awaited 
me ? That the result would be death, and a death 
of more than customary bitterness, I knew too well 
the character of my judges to doubt. The mode 
and the hour were all that occupied or distracted 
me. 

My outstretched hands at length encountered 
some solid obstruction. It was a wall, seemingly 
of stone masonry — very smooth, slimy, and cold. I 
followed it up; stepping with all the careful dis- 
trust with which certain antique narratives had 
inspired me. This process, however, afforded me 
no means of ascertaining the dimensions of my 
dungeon, as I might make its circuit and return to 
the point whence I set out without being aware of 
the fact, so perfectly uniform seemed the wall. I 
therefore sought the knife which had been in my 
pocket when led into the inquisitorial chamber ; but 
it was gone ; my clothes had been exchanged for a 



164 EDGAR ALLAN POE, 

wrapper of coarse serge. I had thought of forcing 
the blade in some minute crevice of the masonry, 
so as to identify my point of departure. The diffi- 
culty, nevertheless, was but trivial; although, in 
the disorder of my fancy, it seemed at first in- 
superable. I tore a part of the hem from the robe 
and placed the fragment at full length, and at right 
angles to the wall. In groping my way around the 
prison, I could not fail to encounter this rag upon 
completing the circuit. So, at least, I thought ; but 
I had not counted upon the extent of the dungeon, 
or upon my own weakness. The ground was moist 
and slippery. I staggered onward for some time, 
when I stumbled and fell. My excessive fatigue in- 
duced me to remain prostrate ; and sleep soon over- 
took me as I lay. 

Upon awaking, and stretching forth an arm, I 
found beside me a loaf and a pitcher with water. I 
was too much exhausted to reflect upon this cir- 
cumstance, but ate and drank with avidity. Short- 
ly afterward, I resumed my tour around the prison, 
and with much toil came at last upon the frag- 
ment of the serge. Up to the period when I fell I 
had counted fifty-two paces, and, upon resuming 
my walk, I had counted forty-eight more — when I 
arrived at the rag. There were in all, then, a hun- 
dred paces ; and, admitting two paces to the yard, 
I presumed the dungeon to be fifty yards in cir- 
cuit. I had met, however, with many angles in the 
wall, and thus I could form no guess at the shape 
of the vault, for vault I could not help supposing it 
to be. 

I had little object — certainly no hope — in these 
researches ; but a vague curiosity prompted me to 



THE PIT AND THE PEND UL UM, 165 

continue them. Quitting the wall, I resolved to 
cross the area of the enclosure. At first, I pro- 
ceeded with extreme caution, for the floor, al- 
though seemingly of solid material, was treach- 
erous with slime. At length, however, I took 
courage, and did not hesitate to step firmly — en- 
deavouring to cross in as direct a line as possible. I 
had advanced some ten or twelve paces in this 
manner, when the remnant of the torn hem of my 
robe became entangled between my legs. I stepped 
on it, and fell violently on my face. 

In the confusion attending my fall, I did not 
immediately apprehend a somewhat startling cir- 
cumstance, which yet, in a few seconds afterward, 
and while I still lay prostrate, arrested my atten- 
tion. It was this: my chin rested upon the floor 
of the prison, but my lips, and the upper portion of 
my head, although seemingly at a less elevation 
than the chin, touched nothing. At the same time 
my forehead seemed bathed in a clammy vapour, 
and the peculiar smell of decayed fungus arose to 
my nostrils. I put forward my arm, and shud- 
dered to find that I had fallen at the very brink of 
a circular pit, whose extent, of course, I had no 
means of ascertaining at the moment. Groping 
about the masonry just below the margin, I suc- 
ceeded in dislodging a small fragment, and let it 
fall into the abyss. For many seconds I barkened 
to its reverberations as it dashed against the sides 
of the chasm in its descent ; at length, there was a 
sullen plunge into water, succeeded by loud echoes. 
At the same moment there came a sound resemb- 
ling the quick opening and as rapid closing of a 
door overhead, while a faint gleam of light flashed 



166 EDGAR ALLAN POE, 

suddenly through the gloom, and as suddenly faded 
away. 

I saw clearly the doom which had been pre- 
pared for me, and congratulated myself upon the 
timely accident by which I had escaped. Another 
step before my fall, and the world had seen me no 
more. And the death just avoided was of that 
very character which I had regarded as fabulous 
and frivolous in the tales respecting the Inquisi- 
tion. To the victims of its tyranny, there was the 
choice of death with its direct physical agonies, or 
death with its most hideous moral horrors. I had 
been reserved for the latter. By long suffering 
my nerves had been unstrung, until I trembled at 
the sound of my own voice, and had become in 
every respect a fitting subject for the species of 
torture which awaited me. 

Shaking in every limb, I groped my way back 
to the wall — resolving there to perish rather than 
risk the terrors of the wells of which my imagina- 
tion now pictured many in various positions about 
the dungeon. In other conditions of mind I might 
have had courage to end my misery at once, by a 
plunge into one of these abysses ; but now I was the 
veriest of cowards. Neither could I forget what 
I had read of these pits — that the sudden extinc- 
tion of life formed no part of their most horrible 
plan. 

Agitation of spirit kept me awake for many 
long hours, but at length I again slumbered. Upon 
arousing, I found by my side, as before, a loaf and 
a pitcher of water. A burning thirst consumed me, 
and I emptied the vessel at a draught. It must 
have been drugged — for scarcely had I drunk, be- 



THE PIT AND THE PEND UL UM. 167 

fore I became irresistibly drowsy. A deep sleep 
fell upon me — a sleep like that of death. How long 
it lasted, of course, I know not; but when, once 
again, I unclosed my eyes, the objects around me 
were visible. By a wild, sulphurous luster, the 
origin of which I could not at first determine, I was 
enabled to see the extent and aspect of the prison. 

In its size I had been greatly mistaken. The 
whole circuit of its walls did not exceed twenty- 
five yards. For some minutes this fact occasioned 
me a world of vain trouble ; vain indeed — for what 
could be of less importance, under the terrible cir- 
cumstances which environed me, than the mere di- 
mensions of my dungeon ? But my soul took a wild 
interest in trifles, and I busied myself in en- 
deavours to account for the error I had committed 
in my measurement. The truth at length flashed 
upon me. In my first attempt at exploration I had 
counted fifty-two paces, up to the period when I 
fell : I must then have been within a pace or two of 
the fragment of serge ; in fact, I had nearly per- 
formed the circuit of the vault. I then slept — and 
upon awaking, I mxUst have turned upon my steps 
— thus supposing the circuit nearly double what it 
actually was. My confusion of mind prevented 
me from observing that I began my tour with the 
wall to the left, and ended with the wall to the 
right. 

I had been deceived, too, in respect to the shape 
of the enclosure. In feeling my way I had found 
many angles, and thus deduced an idea of great 
irregularity ; so potent is the effect of total dark- 
ness upon one arousing from lethargy or sleep! 
The angles were simply those of a few slight de- 

(12) 



168 EDGAR ALLAN POE. 

pressions, or niches at odd intervals. The general 
shape of the prison was square. What I had taken 
for masonry seemed now to be iron, or some other 
metal, in huge plates, whose sutures or joints oc- 
casioned the depression. The entire surface of this 
metallic enclosure was rudely daubed in all the 
hideous and repulsive devices to which the charnel 
superstition of the monks has given rise. The 
figures of fiends in aspects of menace, with skele- 
ton forms, and other more really fearful images, 
overspread and disfigured the walls. I observed 
that the outlines of these monstrosities were suffi- 
ciently distinct, but that the colors seemed faded 
and blurred, as if from the effects of a damp at- 
mosphere. I now noticed the floor, too, which was 
of stone. In the center yawned the circular pit 
from whose jaws I had escaped; but it was the 
only one in the dungeon. 

All this I saw indistinctly and by much effort — 
for my personal condition had been greatly 
changed during slumber. I now lay upon my back, 
and at full length, on a species of low framework 
of wood. To this I was securely bound by a long 
strap resembling a surcingle. It passed in many 
convolutions about my limbs and body, leaving at 
liberty only my head, and my left arm to such ex- 
tent that I could, by dint of much exertion, supply 
myself with food from an earthen dish which lay 
by my side on the floor. I saw, to my horror, that 
the pitcher had been removed. I say to my horror 
— for I was consumed with intolerable thirst. This 
thirst it appeared to be the design of my persecu- 
tors to stimulate — ^for the food in the dish was 
meat pungently seasoned. 



THE PIT AND THE PEND UL UM. 169 

Looking upward, I surveyed the ceiling of my 
prison. It was some thirty or forty feet overhead, 
and constructed much as the side walls. In one of 
its panels a very singular figure riveted my whole 
attention. It was the painted figure of Time as he 
is commonly represented, save that, in lieu of a 
scythe, he held what, at a casual glance, I supposed 
to be picture image of a huge pendulum, such as 
we see on antique clocks. There was something, 
however, in the appearance of this machine which 
caused me to regard it more attentively. While I 
gazed directly upward at it (for its position was 
immediately over my own) I fancied that I saw it 
in motion. In an instant afterward the fancy was 
confirmed. Its sweep was brief, and of course 
slow. I watched it for some minutes somewhat in 
fear, but more in wonder. Wearied at length with 
observing its dull movement, I turned my eyes 
upon the other objects in the cell. 

A slight noise attracted my notice, and looking 
to the floor I saw several enormous rats traversing 
it. They had issued from the well which lay just 
within view to my right. Even then, while I gazed, 
they came up in troops, hurriedly, with ravenous 
eyes, allured by the scent of the meat. From this it 
required much effort and attention to scare them 
away. 

It might have been half an hour, perhaps even 
an hour (for I could take but imperfect note of 
time) , before I again cast my eyes upward. What 
I then saw confounded and amazed me. The sweep 
of the pendulum had increased in extent by nearly 
a yard. As a natural consequence its velocity was 
also much greater. But what mainly disturbed me 



170 EDGAR ALLAN POE. 

was the idea that it had perceptibly descended. I 
now observed — with what horror it is needless to 
say — that its nether extremity was formed of a 
crescent of glittering steel, about a foot in length 
from horn to horn ; the horns upward, and the un- 
der edge evidently as keen as that of a razor. Like 
a razor also, it seemed massive and heavy, taper- 
ing from the edge into a solid and broad structure 
above. It was appended to a weighty rod of brass, 
and the whole hissed as it swung through the air. 

I could no longer doubt the doom prepared for 
me by monkish ingenuity in torture. My cogni- 
zance of the pit had become known to the inquisi- 
torial agents — the pit, whose horrors had been 
destined for so bold a recusant as myself — the pit, 
typical of hell and regarded by rumor as the Ultima 
Thule of all their punishments. The plunge into 
this pit I had avoided by the merest of accidents, 
and I knew that surprise, or entrapment into tor- 
ment, formed an important portion of all the gro- 
tesquerie of these dungeon deaths. Having failed 
to fall, it was no part of the demon plan to hurl me 
into the abyss ; and thus (there being no alterna- 
tive) a diiferent and a milder destruction awaited 
me. Milder! I half smiled in my agony as I 
thought of such application of such a term. 

What boots it to tell of the long, long hours of 
horror more than mortal, during which I counted 
the rushing oscillations of the steel ! Inch by inch 
— line by line — with a descent only appreciable at 
intervals that seemed ages — down and still down 
it came! Days passed — it might have been that 
many days passed — ere it swept so closely over me 
as to fan me with its acrid breath. The odor of 



THE PIT AND THE PENDULUM. 171 

the sharp steel forced itself into my nostrils. I 
prayed — I wearied heaven with my prayer for its 
more speedy descent. I grew frantically mad, and 
struggled to force myself upward against the 
sweep of the fearful scimitar. And then I fell sud- 
denly calm, and lay smiling at the glittering death, 
as a child at some rare bauble. 

There was another interval of utter insensibil- 
ity ; it was brief ; for, upon again lapsing into life, 
there had been no perceptible descent in the pen- 
dulum. But it might have been long — for I knew 
there were demons who took note of my swoon, 
and who could have arrested the vibration at pleas- 
ure. Upon my recovery, too, I felt very — oh ! in- 
expressibly — sick and weak, as if through long in- 
anition. Even amid the agonies of that period the 
human nature craved food. With painful effort 
I outstretched my left arm as far as my bonds per- 
mitted, and took possession of the small remnant 
which had been spared me by the rats. As I put 
a portion of it within my lips, there rushed to 
my mind a half -formed thought of joy — of hope. 
Yet what business had I with hope? It was, as I 
say, a half -formed thought — man has many such, 
which are never completed. I felt that it was of 
joy — of hope ; but I felt also that it had perished in 
its formation. In vain I struggled to perfect — to 
regain it. Long suffering had nearly annihilated 
all my ordinary powers of mind. I was an im- 
becile — an idiot. 

The vibration of the pendulum was at right 
angles to my length. I saw that the crescent was 
designed to cross the region of the heart. It 
would fray the serge of my robe — it would return 



172 EDGAR ALLAN POE, 

and repeat its operations — again — and again. 
Notwithstanding its terrifically wide sweep (some 
thirty feet or more) , and the hissing vigor of its 
descent, sufficient to sunder these very walls of 
iron, still the fraying of my robe would be all that, 
for several minutes, it would accomplish. And at 
this thought I paused. I dared not go further than 
this reflection. I dwelt upon it with a pertinacity 
of attention— as if, in so dwelling, I could arrest 
here the descent of the steel. I forced myself to 
ponder upon the sound of the crescent as it should 
pass across the garment — upon the peculiar thrill- 
ing sensation which the friction of cloth produces 
on the nerves. I pondered over all this frivolity 
until my teeth were on edge. 

Down — steadily down it crept. I took a fren- 
zied pleasure in contrasting its downward with its 
lateral velocity. To the right — to the left — far 
and wide — with the shriek of a damned spirit ! to 
my heart, with the stealthy pace of the tiger! I 
alternately laughed and howled, as the one or the 
other idea grew predominant. 

Down — certainly, relentlessly down ! It vibrat- 
ed within three inches of my bosom ! I struggled 
violently — furiously — to free my left arm. This 
was free only from the elbow to the hand. I could 
reach the latter, from the platter beside me, to my 
mouth, with great effort, but no farther. Could I 
have broken the fastenings above the elbow, I 
would have seized and attempted to arrest the pen- 
dulum. I might as well have attempted to arrest 
an avalanche ! 

Down — still unceasingly — still inevitably 
down ! I gasped and struggled at each vibration. 
I shrank convulsively at its every sweep. My eyes 



THE PIT AND THE PEND UL UM, 173 

followed its outward or upward whirls with the 
eagerness of the most unmeaning despair; they 
closed themselves spasmodically at the descent, al- 
though death would have been a relief, oh, how 
unspeakable! Still I quivered in every nerve to 
think how slight a sinking of the machinery would 
precipitate that keen, glistening axe upon my 
bosom. It was hope that prompted the nerve to 
quiver — the frame to shrink. It was hope — the 
hope that triumphs on the rack — that whispers to 
the death-condemned even in the dungeons of the 
Inquisition. 

I saw that some ten or twelve vibrations would 
bring the steel in actual contact with my robe — 
and with this observation there suddenly came 
over my spirit all the keen, collected calmness of 
despair. For the first time during many hours — 
or perhaps days — I thought. It now occurred to 
me that the bandage, or surcingle, which enveloped 
me was unique. It was tied by no separate cord. 
The first stroke of the razor-like crescent athwart 
any portion of the band would so detach it that it 
might be unwound from my person by means of 
my left hand. But how fearful, in that case, the 
proximity of the steel ! The result of the slightest 
struggle, how deadly! Was it likely, moreover, 
that the minions of the torturer had not foreseen 
and provided for this possibility? Was it prob- 
able that the bandage crossed my bosom in the 
track of the pendulum? Dreading to find my faint 
and, as it seemed, my last hope frustrated, I so 
far elevated my head as to obtain a distinct view 
of my breast. The surcingle enveloped my limbs 
and body close in all directions — save in the path 
of the destroying crescent. 



174 EDGAR ALLAN POE. 

Scarcely had I dropped my head back into its 
original position, when there flashed upon my 
mind what I cannot better describe than as the un- 
formed half of that idea of deliverance to which I 
have previously alluded, and of which a moiety 
only floated indeterminately through my brain 
when I raised food to my burning lips. The whole 
thought was now present — feeble, scarcely sane, 
scarcely definite — but still entire. I proceeded 
at once, with the nervous energy of despair, to at- 
tempt its execution. 

For many hours the immediate vicinity of the 
low framework upon which I lay had been literally 
swarming with rats. They were wild, bold, raven- 
ous — their red eyes glaring upon me as if they 
waited but for motionlessness on my part to make 
me their prey. 'To what food,'' I thought, ''have 
they been accustomed in the well?" 

They had devoured, in spite of all my efforts to 
prevent them, all but a small remnant of the con- 
tents of the dish. I had fallen into an habitual 
see-saw or wave of the hand about the platter; 
and, at length, the unconscious uniformity of the 
movement deprived it of effect. In their voracity, 
the vermin frequently fastened their sharp fangs 
in my fingers. With the particles of the oily and 
spicy viand which now remained, I thoroughly 
rubbed the bandage wherever I could reach it; 
then, raising my hand from the floor, I lay breath- 
lessly still. 

At first the ravenous animals were startled and 
terrified at the change — at the cessation of move- 
ment. They shrank alarmedly back ; many sought 
the well. But this was only for a moment. I had 



THE PIT AND THE PEND UL UM, 175 

not counted in vain upon their voracity. Observ- 
ing that I remained without motion, one or two of 
the boldest leaped upon the framework and smelt 
of the surcingle. This seemed the signal for a 
general rush. Forth from the well they hurried 
in fresh troops. They clung to the wood — they 
overran it, and leaped in hundreds upon my per- 
son. The measured movement of the pendulum 
disturbed them not at all. Avoiding its strokes, 
they busied themselves with the anointed band- 
age. They pressed — they swarmed upon me in 
ever-accumulating heaps. They writhed upon my 
throat ; their cold lips sought my own ! I was half 
stifled by their thronging pressure; disgust, for 
which the world has no name, swelled by bosom, 
and chilled, with a heavy clamminess, my heart. 
Yet one minute, and I felt that the struggle would 
be over. Plainly I perceived the loosening of the 
bandage. I knew that in more than one place it 
must be already severed. With a more than hu- 
man resolution I lay still. 

Nor had I erred in my calculations — nor had I 
endured in vain. I at length felt that I was free. 
The surcingle hung in ribands from my body. But 
the stroke of the pendulum already pressed upon 
my bosom. It had divided the serge of the robe. 
It had cut through the linen beneath. Twice again 
it swung, and a sharp sense of pain shot through 
every nerve. But the moment of escape had ar- 
rived. At a wave of my hand my deliverers hur- 
ried tumultuously away. With a steady move- 
ment — cautious, sidelong, shrinking, and slow — I 
slid from the embrace of the bandage and beyond 
the reach of the scimitar. For the moment, at 
least, / ivas free. 



176 EDGAR ALLAN POE, 

Free ! — and in the grasp of the Inquisition ! I 
had scarcely stepped from my wooden bed of hor- 
ror upon the stone floor of the prison, when the 
motion of the hellish machine ceased, and I beheld 
it drawn up, by some invisible force, through the 
ceiling. This was the lesson which I took des- 
perately to heart. My every motion was undoubt- 
edly watched. Free ! — I had but escaped death in 
one form of agony, to be delivered unto worse than 
death in some other. With that thought I rolled 
my eyes nervously around on the barriers of iron 
that hemmed me in. Something unusual — some 
change, which, at first, I could not appreciate dis- 
tinctly — it was obvious, had taken place in the 
apartment. For many minutes of a dreamy and 
trembling abstraction, I busied myself in vain, un- 
connected conjecture. During this period I be- 
came aware, for the first time, of the origin of the 
sulphurous light which illumined the cell. It pro- 
ceeded from a fissure, about half an inch in width, 
extending entirely around the prison at the base of 
the walls, which thus appeared, and were com- 
pletely separated from the floor. I endeavored, 
but, of course, in vain, to look through the aper- 
ture. 

As I arose from the attempt the mystery of the 
alteration in the chamber broke at once upon my 
understanding. I have observed that, although 
the outlines of the figures upon the walls were suffi- 
ciently distinct, yet the colors seemed blurred and 
indefinite. These colors had now assumed, and 
were momentarily assuming, a startling and most 
intense brilliancy, that gave to the spectral and 
fiendish portraitures an aspect that might have 
thrilled even firmer nerves than my own. Demon 



THE PIT AND THE PEND UL UM, 111 

eyes, of a wild and ghastly vivacity, glared upon 
me in a thousand directions, where none had been 
visible before, and gleamed with lurid lustre of a 
fire that I could not force my imagination to re- 
gard as unreal. 

Unreal! — Even while I breathed there came to 
my nostrils the breath of the vapor of heated iron ! 
A suffocating odor pervaded the prison ! A deeper 
glow settled each moment in the eyes that glared 
at my agonies ! A richer tint of crimson diffused 
itself over the pictured horrors of blood. I panted ! 
I gasped for breath! There could be no doubt of 
the design of my tormentors — oh ! most unrelent- 
ing ! oh ! most demoniac of men ! I shrank from 
the glowing metal to the center of the cell. Amid 
the thought of the fiery destruction that impended, 
the idea of the coolness of the well came over my 
soul like balm. I rushed to its deadly brink. I 
threw my straining vision below. The glare from 
the enkindled roof illumined its inmost recesses. 
Yet, for a wild moment, did my spirit refuse to 
comprehend the meaning of what I saw. At 
length it forced — ^it wrestled its way into my 
soul — it burned itself in upon my shuddering rea- 
son. Oh! for a voice to speak! — oh! horror! — 
oh, any horror but this ! With a shriek, I rushed 
from the margin, and buried my face in my hands 
— weeping bitterly. 

The heat rapidly increased, and once again I 
looked up, shuddering as with a fit of the ague. 
There had been a second change in the cell — and 
now the change was obviously in the form. As 
before, it was in vain that I at first endeavoured to 
appreciate or understand what was taking place. 
But not long was I left in doubt. The Inquisi- 



178 EDGAR ALLAN POE. 

torial vengeance had been hurried by my two-fold 
escape, and there was to be no more dallying with 
the King of Terrors. The room had been square. 
I saw that two of the iron angles were now acute — 
two, consequently, obtuse. The fearful difference 
quickly increased with a low rumbling or moan- 
ing sound. In an instant the apartment had 
shifted its form into that of a lozenge. But the 
alteration stopped not here — I neither hoped nor 
desired it to stop. I could have clasped the red 
walls to my bosom as a garment of eternal peace. 
''Death," I said, ''any death but that of the pit" 
Fool ! might I not have known that into the pit it 
was the object of the burning iron to urge me? 
Could I resist its glow? or if even that, could I 
withstand its pressure? And now, flatter and 
flatter grew the lozenge, with a rapidity that left 
me no time for contemplation. Its centre, and, of 
course, its greatest width, came just over the 
yawning gulf. I shrank back — but the closing 
walls pressed me resistlessly onward. At length 
for my seared and writhing body there was no 
longer an inch of foothold on the firm floor of the 
prison. I struggled no more, but the agony of 
soul found vent in one loud, long and final scream 
of despair. I felt that I tottered upon the brink — 
I averted my eyes — 

There was a discordant hum of human voices ! 
There was a loud blast as of many trumpets ! There 
was a harsh grating as of a thousand thunders! 
The fiery walls rushed back! An outstretched 
arm caught my own as I fell, fainting, into the 
abyss. It was that of General Lasalle. The 
French army had entered Toledo. The Inquisition 
was in the hands of its enemies. 



ELDORADO. 179 



ELDORADO. 

Gaily bedight, 

A gallant knight, 
In sunshine and in shadow, 

Had journeyed long, 

Singing a song, 
In search of Eldorado. 

But he grew old — 

This knight so bold — 
And o'er his heart a shadow 

Fell as he found 

No spot of ground 
That looked like Eldorado. 

And, as his strength 
Failed him at length. 

He met a pilgrim shadow — 
''Shadow," said he, 
"Where can it be — 

This land of Eldorado?'* 

"Over the mountains 

Of the Moon, 
Down the Valley of the Shadow, 

Ride, boldly ride," 

The shade replied, 
"If you seek for Eldorado." 



180 EDGAR ALLAN POE. 



EULALIE. 

I DWELT alone 
In a world of moan. 
And my soul was a stagnant tide, 
Till the fair and gentle Eulalie became by blushing 

bride — 
Till the yellow-haired young Eulalie became my 
smiling bride. 

Ah, less — less bright 
The stars of the night 
Than the eyes of the radiant girl ! 
And never a flake 
That the vapor can make, 
With the moon-tints of purple and pearl. 
Can vie with the modest Eulalie's most unregarded 

curl — 
Can compare with the bright-eyed Eulalie's most 
humble and careless curl. 
Now Doubt — now Pain 
Come never again, 
For her soul gives me sigh for sigh. 
And all day long 
Shines, bright and strong, 
Astarte within the sky. 
While ever to her dear Eulalie upturns her matron 

eye— ^ 
While ever to her young Eulalie upturns her violet 
eye. 



EVENING STAR. 181 



EVENING STAR. 

*TwAS noontide of summer, 

And mid-time of night ; 
And stars, in their orbits, 

Shone pale, thro' the light 
Of the brighter, cold moon, 

'Mid planets her slaves. 
Herself in the Heavens, 
Her beam on the waves, 

I gazed awhile 

On her cold smile ; 
Too cold — too cold for me — 

There pass'd, as a shroud, 

A fleecy cloud, 
And I turn'd away to thee, 

Proud Evening Star, 

In thy glory afar, 
And dearer thy beam shall be ; 

For joy to my heart 

Is the proud part 
Thou bearest in Heaven at night, 

And more I admire 

Thy distant fire, 
Than that colder, lowly light. 



PATRICK HENRY. 

This great Virginian, and perhaps the greatest of 
American orators, combined in his nature, said John Ran- 
dolph, both Shakespeare and Garrick. He was born in 
Hanover County, May 29, 1736, and died in Charlotte 
County, June 6, 1799. He was far better educated than 
he is generally supposed to have been. He was unsuccess- 
ful as a farmer, unsuccessful as a storekeeper, and then 
turned to law. He soon became an eminent lawyer and 
one of the first of our statesmen, in a time when our coun- 
try was crowded with statesmen of note and distinction. 
He was five times elected Governor of his State, and was 
second in the affections of the people of Virginia only to 
Washington himself. He refused the positions of United 
States Secretary of State and of Chief Justice, believing the 
Governorship of a State to be a greater honor than any 
ether save that of the Presidency. 

His other honors, great as they were, however, have 
been almost forgotten through his fame as an orator. His 
most widely known speeches were the one before the Vir- 
ginia convention of 1775 and his argument in the "Parson's 
Case." This latter was really not so much a matter of 
determining the salary to be paid the, clergy as it was a 
test of the rights of legislation of the Virginia House of 
Burgesses. It was Henry's first strong blow for the freedom 
of America. 



SPEECH ON THE RETURN OF THE BRITISH 

REFUGEES. 

We have, Sir, an extensive country, without 
population — what can be a more obvious policy 
than that this country ought to be peopled ? — peo- 



THE BRITISH REFUGEES. 183 

pie, Sir, form the strength and constitute the 
wealth of a nation. I want to see our vast forests 
filled up by some process a little more speedy than 
the ordinary course of nature. I wish to see these 
States rapidly ascending to that rank which their 
natural advantages authorize them to hold among 
the nations of the earth. Cast your eyes. Sir, over 
this extensive country — observe the salubrity of 
your climate ; the variety and fertility of your soil 
— and see that soil intersected in every quarter by 
bold, navigable streams, flowing to the east and to 
the west, as if the finger of Heaven were mark- 
ing out the course of your settlements, inviting 
you to enterprise, and pointing the way to wealth. 
Sir, you are destined, at some time or other, to 
become a great agricultural and commercial peo- 
ple; the only question is, whether you choose to 
reach this point by slow gradations, and at some 
distant period — lingering on through a long and 
sickly minority — subjected, meanwhile, to the 
machinations, insults and oppressions of enemies 
foreign and domestic, without sufficient strength 
to resist and chastise them — or whether you 
choose rather tc rush at once, as it were, to the 
full enjoyment of those high destinies, and be able 
to cope, single-handed, with the proudest op- 
pressor of the old world. If you prefer the latter 
course, as I trust you do, encourage emigration — 
encourage the husbandman, the mechanics, the 
merchants of the old world, to come and settle in 
this land of promise — ^make it the home of the 
skillful, the industrious, the fortunate and happy, 
as well as the asylum of the distressed — fill up 
the measure of your population as speedily as you 

(13) 



184 PATRICK HENRY. 

can, by the means which Heaven hath placed in 
your power — and I venture to prophesy there are 
those now living who will see this favored land 
amongst the most powerful on earth — able, Sir, 
to take care of herself, without resorting to that 
policy which is always so dangerous, though some- 
times unavoidable, of calling in foreign aid. Yes, 
Sir — they will see her great in arts and in arms — 
her golden harvests waving over fields of im- 
measurable extent — her commerce penetrating the 
most distant seas, and her cannon silencing the 
vain boasts of those who now proudly affect to rule 
the waves. But, Sir you must have men — you 
cannot get along without them — those heavy 
forests of valuable timber, under which your lands 
are groaning, must be cleared away — those vast 
riches which cover the face of your soil, as well 
as those which lie hid in its bosom, are to be de- 
veloped and gathered only by the skill and enter- 
prise of men — your timber. Sir, must be worked 
up into ships, to transport the productions of the 
soil from which it has been cleared — then, you 
must have commercial men and commercial capi- 
tal, to take off your productions, and find the best 
markets for them abroad — your great want, Sir, 
is the want of men ; and these you must have, and 
will have speedily, if you are wise. 

"Do you ask how you are to get them? Open 
your doors. Sir, and they will come in — the popu- 
lation of the old world is full to overflowing — that 
population is ground, too, by the oppressions of 
the governments under which they live. Sir, they 
are already standing on tiptoe upon their native 
shores, and looking to your coasts with a wishful 



THE BRITISH REFUGEES. 185 

and longing eye — they see here a land blessed with 
natural and political advantages, which are not 
equaled by those of any other country upon 
earth — a land on which a gracious Providence hath 
emptied the horn of abundance — a land over which 
Peace hath now stretched forth her white wings, 
and where Content and Plenty lie down at every 
door ! Sir, they see something still more attractive 
than all this — ^they see a land in which Liberty 
hath taken up her abode — ^that Liberty, whom they 
had considered as a fabled goddess, existing only in 
the fancies of poets — they see her here a real 
divinity — her altars rising on every hand through- 
out these happy States — her glories chaunted by 
three millions of tongues — and the whole region 
smiling under her blessed influence. Sir, let but 
this, our celestial goddess, Liberty, stretch forth 
her fair hand toward the people of the old world — 
tell them to come, and bid them welcome — and you 
will see them pouring in from the north — from the 
south — from the east, and from the west — your 
wildernesses will be cleared and settled — your 
deserts will smile — your ranks will be filled — and 
you will soon be in a condition to defy the powers 
of any adversary. 



PHILIP PENDLETON COOKE. 

This Virginia or West Virginia poet belonged to a 
family of authors. He was born in Martinsburg, Va., Oc- 
tober 26, 1816. He was a graduate of Princeton and a 
practicing lawyer. He contracted pneumonia on one of 
his many hunting trips and died when only thirty-four 
years of age. 

He wrote Froissart Ballads and Other Poems; John 
Carpe; Crime of Andrew Blair, and several other works. 



FLORENCE VANE. 

I LOVED thee long and dearly, 

Florence Vane ; 
My life's ibright dream, and early, 

Hath come again ; 
I renew in my fond vision. 

My heart's dear pain, 
My hope, and thy derision, 

Florence Vane. 

The ruin lone and hoary, 

The ruin old, 
Where thou didst hark my story. 

At even told, — 
That spot — ^the hues elysian 

Of sky and plain — 
I treasure in my vision, 

Florence Vane. 



FLORENCE VANE, 187 

Thou wast lovelier than the roses 

In their prime ; 
Thy voice excelled the closes 

Of sweetest rhyme ; 
Thy heart was as a river 

Without a main, 
Would I had loved thee never, 

Florence Vane ! 

But, fairest, coldest wonder ! 

Thy glorious clay 
Lieth the green sod under — 

Alas the day ! 
And it boots not to remember 

Thy disdain — 
To quicken love's pale ember, 

Florence Vane. 

The lilies of the valley 

By young graves weep, " 
The pansies love to dally 

Where maidens sleep ; 
May their bloom, in beauty vying. 

Never wane 
Where thine earthly part is lying, 

Florence Vane ! 



GEORGE WASHINGTON CABLE. 

George Cable was born in New Orleans, October 12, 
1844. When nineteen he joined the Confederate Army and 
was attached to the Fourth Missisippi Cavalry. After the 
war he returned to New Orleans, and, in the face of ad- 
versity as surveyor, clerk in a cotton house, and contributor 
to the Picayune, he succeeded sufficiently well to enable him 
to devote a large part of his time to literary work. Some 
of his views on social and political questions did not agree 
with the ideas of many of the people among whom he lived. 
He left New Orleans in 1879 to make his home in New 
England. 

One of the critics, in speaking of his work, said, "Mr. 
Cable possesses a sympathetic heart, an imagination warm 
and plastic, and much contructive skill." 

A few of his many works are Old Creple Days; Strange 
True Stories of Louisiana; The Creoles of Louisiana; The 
Grandissimes; Dr. Sevier, and The Silent South. 

LOUISIANA IN THE WAR OF 1812-'15. 

FROM 

The Tenth Census of the United States: 

The History and Present Condition 

OF New Orleans. 

On the 18th, Jackson (who had arrived in New 
Orleans on Dec. 1st) reviewed and addressed 
his troops. The same day Major Plauche was 
put in command at Bayou St. John, with his bat- 
talion. The commanders of outposts and pick- 
ets received minute instructions. A guard con- 
sisting of firemen and men beyond military age, 
under General Labatut, policed the city, which 
was put under the strictest military rule. On the 



LOUISIANA IN WAR OF 1812-'15. 189 

19th General Carroll arrived at the head of 2,500 
Tennesseeans, and on the 20th General Coffee 
came in with 1,200 riflemen from the same State. 

The army of Jackson was thus increased to 
the number of about 6,000 men. Confidence, ani- 
mation, concord and even gaiety, filled the hearts 
of the people. ''The citizens," says Latour, ''were 
preparing for battle as cheerfully as for a party 
of pleasure. The streets resounded with Yankee 
Doodle, La Marseillaise, Le Chant du Depart, and 
other martial airs. The fair sex presented them- 
selves at the windows and balconies to applaud 
the troops going through their evolutions, and 
to encourage their husbands^ sons, fathers and 
brothers to protect them from their enemies." 
That enemy numbered 14,450 men and a power- 
ful fleet. Sir Edward Pakenham commanded the 
land forces, with Gibbs, Lambert and Kane for 
generals of divisions. The fleet was under Ad- 
mirals Cochrane, Codrington and Malcolm. 

The British, reconnoitering on Lake Borgne, 
soon found at its extreme western end the mouth 
of a navigable stream, the Bayou Bienvenue. It 
flowed into the lake directly from the west, the 
direction of New Orleans. There were six feet 
of water on the bar at the mouth, and more in- 
side. It was more than a hundred yards wide. 
A mile and a half upstream they found a village 
of Spanish and Italian fishermen, who used the 
bayou as a daily water route to the city market. 
These men were readily bribed, and under their 
guidance the whole surrounding country was 
soon explored. The bayou was found to rise close 
behind the lower suburb of New Orleans, whence 



190 GEORGE WASHINGTON CABLE. 

it flowed eastward through a vast cypress swamp 
lying between Bayou Sauvage on the north and 
the Mississippi River on the south, emerging 
by and by upon the broad quaking prairies bor- 
dering Lake Borgne, and emptying into that wa- 
ter. Various plantation draining canals running 
back from the cultivated borders of the Missis- 
sippi, and connecting with the bayou, were found 
to afford on their margins firm standing ground 
and a fair highway to the open plains of the 
Mississippi River shore, immediately below New 
Orleans. By some oversight, which has never 
been explained, this easy route to the city's very 
outskirt had been left entirely unobstructed. On 
the 21st of December, American scouts, penetrat- 
ing to the mouth of the bayou, saw no enemy, 
and established themselves as a picket in the 
fishermen's village, which they had found de- 
serted save by one man. 

Meanwhile the enemy had been for some days 
disembarking on Pea Island, at the mouth of 
Pearl River. On the morning of the 22nd Gen- 
eral Keane's division embarked from this point 
in barges, pushed up the lake, and sometime be- 
fore dawn of the following day surprised and 
overpowered the picket at the fishermen's vil- 
lage, passed on in their boats by way of Bayou 
Bienvenue through the trembling prairie and into 
and through the swamp forest, disembarked at 
Canal Villere, and at half-past eleven in the 
morning of the 23rd emerged, at the rear of Gen- 
eral Villere's plantation, upon the open plain, 
without a foot of fortification confronting them 
between their camping ground and New Orleans. 



LOUISIANA IN WAR OF 1812-'15. 191 

Here, greatly fatigued, they halted until they 
should be joined by other divisions. 

But General Jackson resolved to attack them 
without delay. At seven o'clock in the evening, 
the night being very dark, the American schooner 
Carolina dropped down the river to a point op- 
opposite the British camp, and, anchoring close 
ashore, suddenly opened her broadsides and a 
hot musketry fire at short range. At the same 
moment General Jackson, who, at the head o'f 
1,200 men and two pieces of artillery, had 
marched upon the enemy from the direction of 
New Orleans, and had found them drawn up in 
echelons half a mile along the river bank, with 
their right wing extended toward the woods at 
right angles of the plain, fell upon them first with 
his right, close to the river shore, and was pres- 
ently engaged with them along his whole line. 
The British right, unaware of the approach of 
General Coffee from the direction of the woods, 
with 600 men, under cover of the darkness, and 
attempting to flank Jackson's left, only escaped 
capture by an unfortunate order of the American 
colonel in command, restraining the Creoles, as 
they were about charging with the bayonet. The 
enemy gave way and succeeded in withdrawing 
under cover of the night, a rising fog, and the 
smoke, which was blown toward the American 
line. The engagement continued for a time with 
much energy on both sides, but with little system 
or order. On Jackson's right the British at- 
tempted the capture of the two guns, but their 
charge was repulsed. Companies and battalions 
on both sides, from time to time^ got lost in the 
darkness and fog, sometimes firing into friendly 



192 GEORGE WASHINGTON CABLE. 

lines, and sometimes meeting hostile opponents in 
hand-to-hand encounters. At the same time the 
second division of British troops were arriving at 
the fishermen's village, and, hearing the firing, 
pushed forward in haste, some of them arriving 
on the field shortly before the state of the ele- 
ments put a stop to the contest. 

At four o'clock in the morning of the 24th 
Jackson fell back about two miles nearer to the 
city, and behind a canal running from the river 
to and into the wooded swamp, and known as Rod- 
riguez's canal, took up and began to fortify his 
permanent line, choosing this ground on account 
of the narrowness of the plain. This was only 
some four miles from the lower limits of the city. 

Here, from day to day, the preparations for 
defense went rapidly on^ while the British were 
diligently gathering their forces and laboriously, 
through much inclement weather and over miry 
ground, bringing up their heavy artillery. 
Skirmishing was frequent and of great value to 
Jackson's raw levies. On the 27th and 28th a 
brisk cannonade was interchanged from newl5''- 
erected batteries on either side, resulting in the 
destruction of the Carolina with red-hot shot, 
leaving but a single American vessel, the Louisi- 
ana, in the river, but ending, on the other hand, 
in the demolition of the British batteries. On 
the first day of January, 1815, the enemy opened 
suddenly from three formidable batteries, driv- 
ing Jackson from his headquarters, and riddling 
it with shot and shell. The Americans replied 
with vigor, opposing 10 guns to 28, and succeeded 
in dismounting several of the enemy's pieces. A 



LOUISIANA IN WAR OF 18 12-' 15. 193 

few bales of cotton, forming part of the American 
fortifications, were scattered in all directions and 
set on fire. No further use was made of this ma- 
terial during the campaign. This artillery con- 
test ceased at three in the afternoon, and during 
the night the British dismantled their batteries, 
abandoning five pieces of cannon. 

Thus they were, day by day, training their 
inexperienced foe, and, while being augmented by 
the steady arrival of troops from their fleet in 
the Gulf, were allowing Jackson, also, to be ma- 
terially reinforced. Three hundred Acadians had 
joined him on the 30th of December. On the 
1st of January 500 men arrived from Baton 
Rouge, and on the 4th the expected Kentuckians, 
poorly clad and worse armed, but .2^250 in num- 
ber, gave Jackson, after he had manned all 
strategic points, an effective force on his main line 
of 3,200 men. This line was half a mile of rude 
and extremely uneven earthworks, lying along the 
inner edge of Rodriguez's canal, across the plain, 
from the river bank to a point within the swamp 
forest on the left, and dwindling down, after it 
entered the wood, to a double row of logs laid 
over one another, with a space of two feet be- 
tween the two rows filled with earth. The artil- 
lery defending this half-mile of breastworks and 
ditch consisted of twelve pieces. 

Wintry rains had greatly impeded the Brit- 
ish movements, but Lambert's division at length 
joined the others, and preparations were made 
for the decisive battle. On the 6th and 7th they 
were busy making ready to storm the American 
works, preparing fascines for filling the ditch and 



194 GEORGE WASHINGTON CABLE. 

ladders for mounting the breastworks^ and also 
getting boats through from Villere's canal into the 
river, in order to cross and throw a force against 
Commodore Paterson's very effective marine bat- 
tery on the farther side of the river, and some 
against extremely slender defenses beyond. 

A little before daybreak on the 8th the enemy 
moved out of their camp, and by daylight were 
plainly seen spread out upon the plain across two- 
thirds of its breadth, seemingly about 6,000 
strong. The British plan was, at a given signal, 
to make four simultaneous demonstrations upon 
the American line, one to be made on the farther 
and three on the nearer side of the river. 

About half-past eight o'clock a rocket went up 
on the British side near the woods ; the Americans 
replied by a single cannon shot, and the attack 
began. On the American extreme left, inside the 
cypress forest, some black troops of the British 
force made a feeble onset — an evident feint — 
and were easily repulsed by Coffee's brigade. On 
the right, near the river, the enemy charged in 
solid column with impetuous vigor, and with such 
suddenness that before the American battery sta- 
tioned at that point could fire the third shot the 
British were within the redoubt and had over- 
powered its occupants; but, in attempting to 
scale the breastworks behind, their leader, Colonel 
Rennie^ was killed, and the Americans presently 
retook the redoubt. 

On the opposite side of the river a column of 
the enemy had been expected to engage the 
Americans defending that quarter, and thus save 
the other attacking column from the enfilading 



LOUISIANA IN WAR OF 1S12-'15, 195 

fire of the battery on that side. But this force 
had not been able to move with the celerity ex- 
pected of it, and, though it later reached its in- 
tended field of action, easily driving the Ameri- 
cans, some 600 in number, from their indefensi- 
ble line, and compelling the abandonment of the 
marine battery, this partial success was achieved 
only after the British had everywhere else lost 
the day. 

The main attack was, meantime, made against 
that part of the American line in the plain, but 
near the edge of the swamp. At a ditch some 400 
yards in front of the American works, the main 
force of the enemy formed in close column of 
about 60 men front, and, burdened not only with 
heavy fascines made of ripe sugar-canes and with 
ladders, but with their weighty knapsacks also, 
they advanced, giving three cheers, literally led to 
the slaughter. Preceded by a shower of Congreve 
rockets, they moved forward in perfect order, 
covered for a time by a thick fog, but soon en- 
tirely exposed not only to the full storm of artil- 
lery and musketry from the American breast- 
works, but, upon their extended flank, to the more 
distant fire of Paterson^s marine battery, not yet 
diverted by the forces sent against it, and 
manned by the trained gunners of the United 
States navy. The American fire was delivered 
with terrible precision, that of Flaugeac's bat- 
tery, against which the onset was principally di- 
rected, tearing out whole files of men. Yet with 
intrepid gallantry their brave enemy came on, still 
moving firmly and measuredly, and a few platoons 
had even reached the canal^ when the column fal- 



196 GEORGE WASHINGTON CABLE, 

tered, gave way, and fled precipitately back to the 
ditch where it had first formed. Here the troops 
rallied, laid aside their cumbersome knapsacks, 
were reinforced, and advanced again in the same 
fatal columnar form, though now at a more rapid 
gait and with less order. But the same deadly 
storm met them as before. The part of the line 
directly attacked was manned by Tennessee and 
Kentucky riflemen — Indian fighters, accustomed 
to firing only upon selected victims. This fact, 
with the unfortunate slowness of onset in the first 
attacking column, is probably the true explana- 
tion for the well-nigh unaccountable defeat of so 
fine an army by so ill-equipped a foe. First Sir 
Edward Pakenham, then General Gibbs, then 
General Keane, the first two mortally and the last 
severely wounded, with many others of prominent 
rank, were borne from the field ; the column again 
recoiled^ and, falling back to its starting point, 
could not be induced to make a third attack. The 
British batteries, which had opened vigorously at 
the outset, continued to fire until two in the after- 
noon, and the British troops remained drawn up 
in their ditches to repel an American attack, if 
such should be made ; but from the first signal of 
the morning to the abandonment of all effort to 
storm the line was but one hour, and the battle of 
New Orleans was over at half-past nine. 

On the 9th two bomb vessels, a sloop, a brig 
and a schooner, part of the British fleet, appeared 
in sight of Fort St. Philip, on the Mississippi, 
and, anchoring two and a quarter miles away, be- 
gan a bombardment which continued until the 
18th, without result, whereupon they withdrew; 
and the same night General Lambert stealthily 



LOUISIANA IN WAR OF 1812-'15. 197 

evacuated the British camp. On the 27th the last 
of his forces embarked from the shores of Lake 
Borgne. 

Even in the recital of history the scenes of 
triumphant rejoicing^ the hastily erected arches, 
the symbolical impersonations, the myriads of 
banners and pennons, the columns of victorious 
troops, the crowded balconies, the rain of flow- 
ers, the huzzahs of the thronging populace, the 
salvos of artillery, the garland-crowned victor, 
and the ceremonies of thanksgiving in the solemn 
cathedral, form a part that may be left to the 
imagination. In New Orleans there was little of 
sorrow mingled with the joy of deliverance. Six 
of her defenders alone had fallen, and but seven 
were wounded. The office of healing was exer- 
cised principally on the discomfited enemy, whose 
dead and wounded were numbered by thousands. 

On the 13th of February, Admiral Cochrane 
wrote to General Jackson : "I have exceeding sat- 
isfaction in sending to you a copy of a bulletin 
that I have this moment received from Jamaica, 
proclaiming that a treaty of peace was signed at 
Ghent, on the 24th of December, 1814, upon which 
I beg leave to offer you my sincere congratula- 
tions." It was not until the 17th of March that 
the American commander received official infor- 
mation of the same fact. On the day previous 
Claiborne had written to Mr. Monroe^ Secretary 
of War: "Our harbor is again whitening with 
canvas ; the levee is crowded with cotton, tobacco, 
and other articles for exportation. The merchant 
seems delighted with the prospect before him, 
and the agriculturist finds in the high price for 
his products new excitements to industry." 



HENRY ROOTES JACKSON. 

Henry Rootes Jackson was born in Athens, Ga., June 
24, 1820, and died in Savannah, May 23, 1898. He was a 
graduate of Yale, a Georgia lawyer and Judge, Colonel in 
the Mexican War, Minister to Austria, Minister to Mexico, 
and Brigadier General in the Confederate Army. He 
strongly reflects in his verse the style and thought of the 
English poets popular in his day. 

Tallulah and Other Poems contains nearly all of the 
poems that he has written. 

THE RED OLD HILLS OF GEORGIA. 

FROM 

TALLULAH AND OTHER POEMS 

The red old hills of Georgia ! 

So bald, and bare, and bleak — 
Their memory fills my spirit 

With thoughts that I cannot speak. 
They have no robe of verdure, 
Stript naked to the blast ; 
And yet, of all the varied earth, 
I love them best at last. 

I love them for the pleasure 

With which my life was blest, 
When erst I left, in boyhood, 

My footsteps on their breast. 
When in the rains had perished 

Those steps from plain and knoll. 
Then vanished, with the storm of grief, 

Joy's foot-prints from my soul. 



THE RED OLD HILLS OF GEORGIA. 199 

The red old hills of Georgia ! 

My heart is on them now ; 
Where, fed from golden streamlets, 

Oconee's waters flow! 
I love them with devotion, 

Though washed so bleak and bare ; — 
Oh ! can my spirit e'er forget 

The warm hearts dwelling there ? 

I love them for the living, — 

The generous, kind, and gay ; 
And for the dead who slumber 

Within their breasts of clay. 
I love them for the bounty, 

Which cheers the social hearth; 
I love them for their rosy girls — 

The fairest on the earth ! 

And where, upon their surface. 

Is heart to feeling dead? — ■ 
Oh! when has needy stranger 

Gone from those hills unfed? 
There bravery and kindness, 

For aye, go hand in hand, 
Upon your washed and naked hills, 

"My own, my native land !" 

The red old hills of Georgia 

I never can forget ; 
Amid life's joys and sorrows, 

My heart is on them yet ; — 
And when my course is ended. 

When life her web has wove. 
Oh ! may I then, beneath those hills. 

Lie close to them I love! 

(14) 



200 HENRY ROOTES JACKSON. 



MY WIFE AND CHILD. 

FROM 

TALLULAH AND OTHER POEMS 

The tattoo beats ; — the lights are gone ; — 
The camp around in slumber lies ; — 

The night, with solemn pace, moves on ; — 
The shadows thicken o'er the skies ; — 

But sleep my weary eyes hath flown, 
And sad, uneasy thoughts arise. 

I think of thee, oh ! dearest one ! 

Whose love mine early life hath blest ; — 
Of thee and him — our baby son — 

Who slumbers on thy gentle breast ; — 
God of the tender, frail, and lone. 

Oh ! guard that little sleeper's rest ! 

And hover, gently hover near 

To her, whose watchful eye is wet — 

The mother, wife, the doubly dear, 

In whose young heart have freshly met 

Two streams of love so deep and clear — 
And cheer her drooping spirit yet ! 

Now, as she kneels before thy throne, 
Oh ! teach her. Ruler of the skies ! 

That while, by thy behest alone. 

Earth's mightiest powers fall or rise 

No tear is wept to thee unknown, 
'Nor hair is lost, nor sparrow dies ! 



MY WIFE AND CHILD. 201 

That thou canst stay the ruthless hand 
Of dark disease, and soothe its pain ; 

That only by thy stern command 
The battle's lost, the soldier's slain ; 

That from the distant sea or land 

Thou bring'st the wanderer home again ! 

And when upon her pillow lone 

Her tear-wet cheek is sadly press'd, 

May happier visions beam upon 
The brightening currents of her breast, — 

Nor frowning look, nor angry tone. 
Disturb the sabbath of her rest! 

Whatever fate those forms may throw. 
Loved with a passion almost wild — 

By day, by night — in joy, or woe — 
By fears oppressed, or hopes beguiled — 

From every danger, every foe, 

Oh ! God ! protect my wife and child ! 



JOHN JAMES AUDUBON. 

The great naturalist of the South was born in Madi- 
sonville, La., near New Orleans, May 4, 1780. He was edu- 
cated in France; one of his masters there was the famous 
artist David. 

On his return to this country he was equally unsuccess- 
ful as farmer near Philadelphia and merchant in Louis- 
ville, Hendersonville and New Orleans. He seemed to have 
no better success as a teacher. 

He spent about fifteen years practically living in the 
forests, first of one state, then of another, studying the 
bird and animal life of North America. His first efforts to 
publish the result of his studies were made in England; 
later editions of his books appeared in the United States. 

Just as he combined in his drawings of wild life the 
qualities of artist and scientist, so in his literary style are 
combined purity, precision and simplicity. 

His works are The Birds of America, and The Quadru- 
peds of America. 

THE MALLARD DUCK. 

FROM 
THE BIRDS OF AMERICA. 

Look at that Mallard as he floats on the lake ; 
see his elevated head glittering with emerald- 
green, his amber eyes glancing in the light ! Even 
at this distance he has marked you, and suspects 
that you bear no good will towards him, for he 
sees that you have a gun, and he has many a time 
been frightened by its report, or that of some 
other. The wary bird draws his feet under his 
body, springs upon them, opens his wings, and 
with loud quacks bids you farewell. 

Now another is before you, on the margin of 
that purling streamlet. How brisk are all his mo- 
tions compared with those of his brethren that 
waddle across your poultry yard ! How much more 




^^ 



-l-iA^ 



THE MALLARD DUCK. 203 

graceful in form and neat in apparel! The Duck 
at home is the descendiant of a race of slaves, and 
has lost his native spirit; his wings have been so 
little used that they can hardly raise him from the 
ground. But the free-born, the untamed Duck of 
the swamps, — see how he springs on wing, and 
hies away over the woods. 

The Mallards generally arrive in Kentucky and 
other parts of the Western country from the mid- 
dle of September to the first of October, or as soon 
as the lacorns and beech-nuts are fully ripe. In a 
few days they are to be found in all the ponds 
that are covered with seed-bearing grasses. Some 
flocks, which appear to be guided by an experi- 
enced leader, come directly down on the water 
with a rustling sound of their wings that can be 
compared only to the noise produced by an eagle 
in the act of swooping upon its prey, while other 
flocks, as if they felt uneasy respecting the safety 
of the place, sweep around and above it several 
times in perfect silence, before they alight. In 
either case, the birds immediately bathe them- 
selves, beat their bodies with their wings, dive by 
short plunges, and cut so miany capers that you 
might imagine them to be stark mad. The fact, 
however, seems to be that all this alacrity and 
gaiety only shows the necessity they feel of clear- 
ing themselves of the insects about their plumage, 
as well as the pleasure they experience on finding 
themselves in a milder climate, with abundance of 
food around them, after a hard journey of per- 
haps a day and a night. They wash themselves 
and arrange their dress, before commencing their 
meal; and in this other travelers would do well 
to imitate them. 



204 JOHN JAMES AUDUBON. 

Now, towards the grassy margins they advance 
in straggling parties. See how they leap from the 
water to bend the loaded tops of the tall reeds. 
Woe be to the slug or snail that comes in their way. 
iSome are probing the mud beneath, and waging 
war against the leech, frog, or lizard that is within 
reach of their bills ; while many of the older birds 
run into the woods, to fill their crops with beech- 
nuts and acorns, not disdaining to swallow also, 
should they come in their way, some of the wood- 
mice that, frightened by the approach of the for- 
agers, hie towards their burrows. The cackling 
they keep up would almost deafen you, were you 
near them ; but it is suddenly stopped by the ap- 
proach of some unusual enemy, and at once all are 
silent. With heads erected on outstretched necks, 
they anxiously look around. It is nothing, how- 
ever, but a bear, who being, like themselves, fond 
of mast, is ploughing up the newly fallen leaves 
with his muzzle, or removing an old rotting log 
in search of worms. The Ducks resume their em- 
ployment. But another sound is now heard, one 
more alarming. The bear raises himself on his 
hind legs, snuffs the air, and with a loud snort 
gallops off towards the depths of his cane-brake. 
The Ducks retreat to the water, betake themselves 
to the centre of the pool, and, uttering half -stifled 
notes, await the sight of the object they dread. 
There the enemy cunningly advances, first covered 
by one tree, then by another. He has lost his 
chance of the bear, but, as he is pushed by hunger, 
a Mallard will do for the bullet of his rusty rifle. 
It is an Indian, as you perceive by his red skin 
and flowing black hair, which, however, has been 



THE MALLARD D UCK. 205 

cut close from the sides of his head. In the centre 
of his dearly purchased blanket, a hole has been 
cut, through which he has thrust his bare head, 
and the ragged garment, like a horse's netting, is 
engaged as it were in flapping off the last hungry 
mosquitoes of the season that are fast sucking the 
blood from his limbs. Watch him. Mallard. Niay, 
wait no longer, for I see him taking aim; hetter 
for you all to fly ! No? Well, one of you will cer- 
tainly furnish him with a repast. Amid the dark 
wood rises the curling smoke, the report comes on 
my ear, the Ducks all rise save a pair, that, with 
back downwards and feet kicking against the air, 
have been hit by the prowler. The free son of the 
forest slowly approaches the pool, judges at a 
glance of the depth of the mire, and boldly ad- 
vances, until with a cane he draws the game 
towards him. Returning to the wood, he now kin- 
dles a little fire, the feathers fill the air around; 
from each wing he takes a quill to clean the touch- 
hole of his gun in damp weather; the entrails he 
saves to bait some trap. In a short time the Ducks 
are ready, and the hunter enjoys his meal, 
although brief time does he take in swallowing the 
savoury morsels. Soon, the glimmering light of 
the moon will see him again on his feet, and lead 
him through the woods, as he goes in pursuit of 
other game. 

Although Ducks are, it is true, quite destitute 
of song, their courtships are not devoid of interest. 
The males, like other gay deceivers, offer their re- 
gards to the first fair one that attracts their notice, 
promise unremitting fidelity and affection, and re- 
peat their offers to the next they meet. See that 



206 JOHN JAMES A UD UBON. 

drake, how he proudly shows, first the beauty of 
his silky head, then the brilliancy of his wing- 
spots, and, with honeyed jabberings, discloses the 
warmth of his laff ection. He plays around this one, 
then around another, until the passion of jealousy 
is aroused in the breasts of the admired and flat- 
tered. Bickerings arise; the younger Duck dis- 
dains her elder sister, and a third, who conceives 
herself a coquette of the first order, interposes, as 
if to ensure the caresses of the feathered beau. 
Many tricks are played by Ducks, good readers, 
but ere long the females retire in search of a safe 
place in which they may deposit their eggs and 
rear their young. They draw a quantity of weeds 
around them, and form an ill-arranged sort of nest, 
in which from seven to ten eggs are laid. From 
their bodies they pluck the softest down, and, plac- 
ing it beneath the eggs, begin the long process of 
incubation, which they intermit only for short 
periods, when it becomes absolutely necessary to 
procure a little sustenance. 

At length, in about three weeks, the young be- 
gin to cheep in the shell, from which, after a vio- 
lent struggle, they make their escape. What beau- 
tiful creatures! See how, with their little bills, 
they dry their downy apparel! Now, in a long 
line, one after another, they follow their glad 
mother to the water, on arriving at which they 
take to swimming and diving, as if elated with 
joy for having been introduced into existence. The 
male, wearied and emaciated, is far away on some 
other pond. The unnatural barbarian cares noth- 
ing about his progeny, nor has a thought arisen in 
his mind respecting the lonely condition of his 



THE MALLARD DUCK. 207 

mate, the greatness of her cares, or the sadness 
that she may experience under the idea that she 
has been utterly forsaken by him who once called 
her his only and truly beloved. No, reader, not a 
thought of this kind has he wasted on her whom he 
has left alone in charge of a set of eggs, and now 
of a whole flock of innocent ducklings, to secure 
which from danger, and see them all grow up 
apace, she manifests the greatest care and anxiety. 
She leads them along the shallow edges of grassy 
ponds, and teaches them to seize the small insects 
that abound there, the flies, the mosquitoes, the 
giddy beetles that skim along the surface in cir- 
cles and serpentine lines. At the sight of danger, 
they run as it were on the water, make directly 
for the shore, or dive and disappear. In about six 
weeks, those that have escaped from the ravenous 
fishes and turtles have attained a goodly size ; the 
quills appear on their wings ; their bodies are en- 
cased with feathers; but as yet none are able to 
fly. By the time that the leaves are changing their 
hues, the young Mallards take freely to their 
wings, and the old males join the congregated 
flocks. 

Once I found a female leading her young' 
through the woods, and no doubt conducting them 
towards the Ohio. When I first saw her, she had 
already observed me, and had squatted flat among 
the grass, with her brood around her. As I moved 
onwards she ruffled her feathers and hissed at me 
in the manner of a goose, while the little ones 
scampered off in all directions. I had an excellent 
dog, well instructed to catch young birds without 
injuring them, and I ordered him to seek for them. 



208 JOHN JAMES A UD UBON, 

On this the mother took to wing, and flew through 
the woods as if about to fall down at every yard or 
so. She passed and repassed over the dog, as if 
watching the success of the search; and as one 
after another the ducklings were brought to me, 
and struggled in my bird-bag, the distressed par- 
ent came to the ground near me, rolled and 
tumbled about, and so affected me by her despair, 
that I ordered the dog to lie down, while, with a 
pleasure that can be felt only by those who are 
parents themselves, I restored to her the innocent 
brood, and walked off. As I turned round to ob- 
serve her I really thought I could perceive grati- 
ture expressed in her eye ; and a happier moment 
I never felt while rambling in search of knowl- 
edge through the woods. 

In unfrequented parts, the Mallards feed both 
by day and by night ; but in places where they are 
much disturbed by gunners they feed mostly by 
night, or towards evening and about sunrise. In 
extremely cold weather they betake themselves to 
the sources of streams, and even to small springs, 
where they may be found along with the American 
Snipe. At times, after heavy falls of rain, they 
are seen searching for ground-worms over the 
cornfields, and during the latter part of autumn 
the rice plantations of Georgia and the Carolinas 
afford them excellent pasture grounds. I have 
thought indeed that at this season these birds per- 
form a second migration, as it were, for they then 
pour into the rice fields by thousands from the in- 
terior. In the Floridas they are at times seen in 
such multitudes as to darken the air, and the noise 
they make in rising from off a large submerged 
savannah is like the rumbling of thunder. 



THE MALLARD D UCK. 209 

The flight of the Mallard is swift, strong, and 
well sustained. It rises either from the ground or 
from the water at a single spring, and flies almost 
perpendicularly for ten or fifteen yards, or, if in 
a thick wood, until quite above the tops of the tall- 
est trees, after which it moves horizontally. If 
alarmed it never rises without uttering several 
quacks ; but on other occasions it usually leaves its 
place in silence. While traveling to any distance, 
the whistling sound of their wings may be heard a 
great way off, more especially in the quiet of night. 
Their progress through the air I have thought 
might be estimated at a mile and a half in the 
minute ; and I feel very confident that when at full 
speed and on a long journey they can fly at the rate 
of a hundred and twenty miles in the hour. 

The eggs of this species measure two inches 
and a quarter in length, one inch and five-eighths 
in breadth. The shell is smooth, and of a plain 
light dingy green. They are smaller than those of 
the tame duck, and rarely so numerous. 

The young acquire the full plumage in the 
course of the first winter. 



ALBERT PIKE. 

This picturesque and remarkable man was born in 
Boston, Mass., December 29, 1809. He was a student at 
Harvard, but did not graduate. In his twenty-second year 
he started for the West. Tradition says that his horse, 
frightened by a thunder storm, ran away and Pike went 

the remainder of his journey, five hundred miles, on foot. 
He practiced law in Arkansas, commanded a company of 
her cavalry during the Mexican War, and, still as a citizen 
of Arkansas, was made Confederate Commissioner to the 
Indian tribes and Brigadier General of the Indian troops 
in the Confederate Army. 

He edited newspapers in Arkansas and in Memphis, and 
practiced law in New Orleans and in Washington. The 
latter years of his life were given chiefly to his work in 
Freemasonry. His literary fame rests on his poems, most 
of which were published in Nugae. Trent says of these 
poems, "His poetical work was of such quality that it is 
regrettable that he did not write more, and strange that 
what he did write is not better known." 



CHRISTMAS 

FROM 

NUGAE. 

The Christmas time is drawing near, the pleasant 
Christmas time: 

Let us hail its coming cheerfully, with a song of 
rude old rhyme; 

A good rough song, like those that when Old Eng- 
land yet was young. 

Under old Saxon rafters with a jolly chorus rung; 



CHRISTMAS, 211 

And round shall pass the merry glass, grim Care 
we'll drive away, 

And music and the dance shall greet the gladsome 
Christmas day. 

Old feuds we'll bury fathoms deep, old friend- 
ships we'll renew^ 

And closer cling to those we love, as the ivy to 
the yew. 

There may be winter out of doors, the keen cold 
wind may sing 

Shrilly and sharply, but within the warm heart 
shall be spring: 

Kind feelings, like sweet jasmine buds and flow- 
ers, shall come again. 

And blossom like the summer rose, blessed with 
a morning rain. 

Had we our way, the good old sports should be 

revived once more; 
Again should maidens' little feet dance twinkling 

on the floor; 
While overhead again should hang the dark-green 

mistletoe. 
And all lips that strayed under it the forfeit pay, 

we know; 
The yule-log should again be brought by many a 

stout, strong hand. 
And some fair girl should light it with the last 

year's sacred brand. 

Once more should pass the wassail-bowl, of nut- 
brown ale, and old, 

A sovereign panacea that, against the winter's 
cold! 

With the nutmeg, toast and ginger : — all the vint- 
age of the Rhine 



212 ALBERT PIKE. 

Can neither warm the brain as well, nor make a 

dark eye shine 
With half as much mad mischief, or with half as 

merry glee; — 
So away with wine ! — good Christmas ale for my 

sweetheart and me! 
"And both in town and country, in the cottage and 

the hall. 
There should be fires to curb the cold, and meat 

for great and small." 
The neighbors should be bidden in, and all have 

welcome true. 
And think the good old fashions were far better 

than the new: 
The roasted apples once again should cover all the 

hearth, 
And many a good old-fashioned game make the 

rafters ring with mirth. 

And the boar's head, dressed with a green silk 

scarf, and with trumpets blown before. 
Come marching solemnly along, with a carol sung 

at the door; 
Then the maidens should the cake cut up, and she 

who found the bean 
Should be, the whole long holidays, a lovely 

Christmas Queen; 
Who would rebel if Adeline or Susan wore the 

crown, 
Or Marian or Betty ruled the bravest with a 

frown? 

And the Christmas-tree again should grow, and 

its golden fruitage shine 
Around its dark-green glossy leaves; the ivy 

fondly twine 



CHRISTMAS. 213' 

Its melancholy tendrils round the trunk and every 

limb, 
As sad thoughts cling around the heart when at 

night the fire burns dim: 
Not of holly, bay, or laurel ! — let us have no kingly 

tree. 
But the lusty green magnolia, fit emblem for the 

free. 

Alas ! the good old days are gone ! Time blows a 

steady gale; 
On the waves of new strange oceans falls the 

shadow of our sail; 
No more old games we play, we crown no fair 

young queen or king ; 
'Twas a mere idle dream that through my mind 

went wandering: 
Like as a sea-wind gently blows through a shell 

upon the shore, 
And wakes a low, sweet melody, mingling with 

ocean's roar. 

Not all a dream ! We can forgive those that have 

done us wrong. 
Draw closer to old friends, and make affection's 

bonds more strong; 
Can make more sunlight on our path, more star- 
light in the hearty 
And get us ready for the time when we must 

hence depart: 
So shall we live in peace with all, and when we 

pass away 
Look back without a bitter thought to this fair 

Christmas day. 



OCTAVIA WALTON LE VERT. 

Madame Le Vert was- born near Augusta, Ga., in 1810. 
She was brought up in Florida, of which State her father, 
George Walton, was Governor. She is said to have given 
the Indian name Tallahassee (beautiful land) to its capital 
city. She spent several winters in Washington, where she 
won the friendship of Clay, Webster, and Calhoun. 

After her marriage to Dr. Le Vert she spent two years 
in European travel. She was a gifted linguist, a brilliant 
conversationalist, and a woman of unusual intelligence. 

She was the author of Souvenirs of Travel; Souvenirs 
of the War, and Souvenirs of Distinguished People. 



THE SIMPLON. 

FROM 

SOUVENIRS OF TRAVEL. 

The road of the Simplon is in truth one of the 
most magnificent works of this century. Napoleon 
determined it should be made immediately after 
he had crossed the great St. Bernard. When the 
battle of Marengo was ''fought and won," he com- 
manded his engineers to make a survey of the 
route. Those of Ceard were deemed the best, and 
therefore chosen. On the Italian side it was com- 
menced in 1800, and on the Swiss in 1801. It re- 
quired the labor of six years to complete it, as 
the road passed over more than six hundred 
bridges, great and small. Napoleon was exceed- 
ingly interested in the progress of the work. 



THE SIMPLON. 215 

Whenever information was brought him concern- 
ing it, he would always ask, "When can the cannon 
pass over the Simplon?" showing his great object 
was the more easy transportation of his powerful 
artillery. 

At Brieg the road left the ''arrowy Rhone," 
and we drove rapidly up the Simplon. So gradual 
was the ascent, we were scarcely conscious of the 
height we had attained, save by the clearer view 
of the distant valleys. The weather was delight- 
ful ; not in the slightest degree cold, but gentle and 
soft as the sweetest days of our spring. 

When we lost sight of the Rhone valley the 
road turned away from one peak, which rose up 
like a grand rampart, and passed by another into 
the gorge of the Saltine, where we crossed a fierce 
torrent upon a covered bridge. Far, far above us 
we saw the clear, pale blue fields of ice, and were 
told our road upward would pass near them. 

The view from the first post-house was 'admir- 
able. We seemed as though raised up in a balloon, 
with the valleys spread out beneath us. After 
changing horses we crossed the plain of Gauther 
and another furious torrent. The plain is very 
dangerous in consequence of the avalanches every 
winter. 

Now, we perceived the great labor of making 
the road. There were miles of solid masonry and 
hundreds of feet of galleries formed partly of the 
living rock and partly of huge pillars of stone and 
mortar. The turnings and windings of the way 
were really incredible. One valley we passed en- 
tirely around three times upon ledges or terraces, 
built one above the other, as though they belonged 

(15) 



216 OCT AVI A WALTON LE VERT. 

to some giant hanging garden. When we gained 
the summit we could trace far below us the narrow 
track like a white seam upon the mountain-side. 

From gallery to gallery we drove on until we 
came out upon the edge of the precipice. Then for 
the first time a sensation of fear thrilled our 
hearts, or rather of awe. Before us were the Ber- 
nese Alps in their lonely grandeur. Far below 
into caverns land chasms of untold depth fell the 
glacier torrents, echoing from peak to peak the 
music of the waterfall. Far above all, arose the 
summit of the Simplon in white and chilly gran- 
deur. It was entirely covered with snow, save a 
few pulpit-shaped rocks. Around it was a crown 
of clouds, touched by the sunbeams and wrought 
into fantastic banks of rose-hue, exquisitely beau- 
tiful to behold. Neither shrub, tree, nor flower 
formed a portion of the majestic spectacle, where 
"Alps rose over Alps," while the brilliant snow 
of ages, the eternal glaciers, and the mighty rocks 
reigned supreme. Never did I feel my soul more 
perfectly raised from "Nature up to Nature's 
God !'' Who could be a skeptic in a scene like this, 
where the hand of the "Great Architect" is so 
manifest in the glories of his creation ? A feeling 
of profound gratitude filled my bosom that my 
eyes had dwelt upon this glorious mountain-world, 
and that within my memory it would be a joy for- 
ever. 

Higher and higher we went, until we perceived 
near us the little cross marking the highest point 
of the road, six thousand five hundred and seventy- 



THE SIMPLON, 217 

eight feet above the level of the sea. Although 
the elevation was so great, the atmosphere was 
pleasantly warm, and the air so pure and clear, 
objects exceedingly distant seemed incredibly 
near. 

Across a gray, barren plain we drove to a 
large hospice, commenced by the command of 
Napoleon, and since completed. It is occupied 
by friars of the Augustine order. They give shel- 
ter to travelers during periods of stormy weather. 
We saw there the dogs of the great St. Bernard ; 
they are almost as large as a well-grown calf, and 
are covered with thick, shaggy hair. Father Biar- 
ras came out to speak with us. He is noted for 
his kindness to strangers, and has a most benevo- 
lent face. 

Along the Simplon road there are six houses 
of refuge for ''the traveler worn and weary." 
They are most valuable asylums, for the tempests 
often arise so suddenly it would be impossible to 
escape certain destruction were not these places 
of protection wisely placed within the reach of the 
wayfarer. Then the avalanches occur when the 
''heavens are brightest." We heard the crushing 
sound of one, but it was happily far away from us 
in a distant valley. The houses of refuge are 
built with massive walls and furnished with an 
abundance of fire-wood. Some few are occupied 
by miserable looking peasants, who will wait upon 
a stranger for a good compensation. Others are 
left open, and all enter who wish, free and without 
charge. 

At Simplon we dined and then proceeded to the 
first gallery on the Italian side of the mountain. 



218 OCT AVI A WALTON LE VERT. 

It is along the Doveria, near where it rushes into 
the Gorge of Gondo. Words cannot even give a 
shadow of the wild and savage grandeur of this 
Alpine gorge. The mountains appeared to have 
been rent asunder by some fierce convulsion of 
nature, leaving a passway for the Doveria, which 
rushes through, sometimes a roaring river, then 
falling, a grand cataract, into the dark chasm be- 
low. The road is upon a terrace of solid masonry, 
or else upon a ledge cut in the rock, directly along 
the verge of the torrent. Far above, on the top 
of the cliff, was a fringe of fir-trees; all below 
them was the barren gray rock, in places perfectly 
white, from the sheets of snowy foam, caused by 
the myriads of water-falls which came dashing 
down their sides, and were lost in mists ere they 
reached the Doveria. 

We crossed the rushing river upon the High 
Bridge, and came to a projection of the mountain 
it seemed utterly impossible to pass. But the skill- 
ful engineers had accomplished wonders; instead 
of going round it, we suddenly dived into the Gal- 
lery of Gondo, six hundred feet long. It appeared 
interminable, although there were great windows 
to give light. At last the guard called out we 
were nearly through. Infinite was our amazement 
and terror when the diligence emerged from the 
gallery, and passed under a great waterfall ! Our 
hearts almost ceased to beat, as the foam of the 
roaring, wildly-rushing torrent dashed into our 
faces, and a sound like that of the crashing ava- 
lanche assailed our ears. I suppose that we 
screamed ; but the human voice was unheard in the 
fierce tumult of waters. We were only two min- 



THE SIMPLON. 219 

utes beneath the cataract, they told us; but fear 
so painfully magnified the time, it really seemed 
an hour. The cascade, descending from the highest 
point of the rocky battlement above, leaves a space 
between the stream and the cliff, along which the 
workmen have cut a kind of huge shelf where the 
road passes. Although apparently so dangerous, 
we were assured it was entirely safe. When be- 
yond the reach of the spray, we insisted upon stop- 
ping, that we might look upon the waterfall. It 
was a scene of matchless grandeur ! A little strip 
of sky appeared to roof over the great abyss, 
where the Doveria torrents and ourselves were 
sole occupants. 

The road continued to wind around and around 
along the terrace built up to support it, or through 
great caverns pierced in the living rock. On all 
sides there was a concert of waterfalls, of every 
size, form, and dimension ; each one had its pecu- 
liar note of wild melody, as it rushed down the 
mountain, and mingled with the turbulent river 
far in the gulf below. 

We passed the last Swiss village, and then came 
to Isella, the first Italian or rather Austrian post, 
situated in a narrow valley, just on the edge of the 
foaming waters. There our passports and luggage 
were examined. As the soldiers went very leis- 
urely to work to accomplish this, the deep night 
came ere it was completed. Hence we were com- 
pelled to leave the diligence, and remain at the 
neat little inn of Isella. 



HENRY TIMROD. 

The soul of Timrod seemed to be too great for the body 
that struggled to contain it, but a life of suffering, want 
and sorrow seemed only to ennoble that soul and purify his 
genius. 

He was born in Charleston, S. C, December 8, 1829, and 
died in the city of Columbia, of the same State, October 6, 
1867. Ill health and poverty prevented him from complet- 
ing his education, and ill health caused his withdrawal 
f Bom the Confederate Army. His nature was so little fitted 
for the practice of law that he gave up his profession. 
He supported himself in a most meager fashion by tutor- 
ing, until finally he secured a position as editor of the 
Columbia South Carolinian. His sad life had an equally 
sad ending in his thirty-eighth year. 

Many of the critics rank Timrod only second to Poe in 
the power of his genius. 



THE LILY CONFIDANTE. 

Lily ! lady of the garden ! 

Let me press my lip to thine ! 
Love must tell its story, Lily ! 

Listen thou to mine. 

Two I choose to know the secret — 
Thee, and yonder wordless flute ; 

Dragons watch me, tender Lily, 
And thou must be mute. 



THE LILY CONFIDANTE. 221 

There's a maiden, and her name is 
Hist! was that a rose-leaf fell? 

See, the rose is listening, Lily, 
And the rose may tell. 

Lily-browed and lily-hearted. 

She is very dear to me; 
Lovely? Yes, if being lovely 

Is — resembling thee. 

Six to half la score of summers 
Make the sweetest of the "teens*' — 

Not too young to guess, dear Lily, 
What a lover means. 

Laughing girl, and thoughtful woman, 

I am puzzled how to woo — 
Shall I praise, or pique her, Lily? 

Tell me what to do. 

''Silly lover, if thy Lily 

Like her sister lilies be, 
Thou must woo, if thou wouldst wear her. 

With a simple plea. 

* 'Love's the lover's only magic. 

Truth the very subtlest art; 
Love that feigns, and lips that flatter. 

Win no modest heart. 

"Like the dewdrop in my bosom. 
Be thy guileless language, youth ; 

Falsehood buyeth falsehood only. 
Truth must purchase truth. 



222 HENRY TIMROD. 

'*As thou talkest at the fireside, 

With the little children by — 
As thou prayest in the darkness, 

When thy God is nigh — 

''With a speech as chaste and gentle. 

And such meanings as become 
Ear of child, or ear of angel, 

Speak, or be thou dumb. 

''Woo her thus, and she shall give thee 
Of her heart the sinless whole. 

All the girl within her bosom. 
And her woman's soul." 

(From Memorial of Henry Timrod's Poems, by permission 
of B. F. Johnson Publishing Co.) 



HARK TO THE SHOUTING WIND. 223 



HARK TO THE SHOUTING WIND. 

Hark to the shouting Wind ! 

Hark to the flying Rain ! 
And I care not though I never see 

A bright blue sky again. 

There are thoughts in my breast to-day 

That are not for human speech ; 
But I hear them in the driving storm, 

And the roar upon the beach. 

And oh, to be with that ship 

That I v^atch through the blinding brine ! 

Wind ! for thy sweep of land and sea ! 
Sea ! for a voice like thine ! 

Shout on, thou pitiless Wind, 

To the frightened and flying Rain ! 

1 care not though I never see 

A calm blue sky again. 

(From Memorial of Henry Timrod's Poems, by permission 
of B. F. Johnson Publishing Co.) 



JOEL CHANDLER HARRIS. 

This unrivalled portrayer of the lights and shades, and 
especially of the humor, of negro character, and the dis- 
coverer of the new field of Afro- American folklore, was 
born in Eatonton, Ga., December 8, 1848, and died in At- 
lanta, Ga., July 3, 1908. He practiced law for a short 
time in Forsyth, Ga., worked on papers, first in Macon, 
Ga., then in New Orleans, and finally moved to Atlanta, 
Vv^here he became one of the editors of the famous Consti- 
tution. His work easily enables him to take rank with 
xhe best humorists of our country. 

A few of his books are: Uncle Remus: His Songs and 
His Sayings; Nights With Uncle Remus; On the Planta- 
tion; Free Joe, and Little Mr. Thimblefinger. 



THE KNIGHTS OF THE WHITE CAMELLIA. 

FROM 

GABRIEL TOLLIVER. 

Matters have changed greatly since those 
days, and for the better. The people of the whole 
country understand one another, and there is no 
longer any sectional prejudice for the politicians to 
feed and grow fat upon. But in the days of recon- 
struction everything was at white heat, and every 
episode and every development appeared to be cal- 
culated to add to the excitement. In all this Shady 
Dale had as large a share as any other community. 
The whites had witnessed many political outrages 
that seemed to have for their object the renewal of 
armed resistance. And it is impossible, even at 
this late day, for any impartial person to read the 



KNIGHTS OF WHITE CAMELLIA, 225 

debates in the Federal Congress during the years 
of 1867 and 1868 without realizing the awful fact 
that the prime movers in the reconstruction 
scheme (if not the men who acted as their instru- 
ments and tools) were intent on stirring up a new 
revolution in the hope that the negroes might be 
prevailed upon to sack cities and towns and de- 
stroy the white population. This is the only reas- 
onable inference; no other conceivable conclusion 
can explain the wild and whirling words that were 
uttered in these debates ; unless, indeed, some char- 
itable investigator shall establish the fact that the 
radical leaders were suffering from a sort of con- 
tagious dementia. 

It is all over and gone, but it is necessary to 
recall the facts in order to explain the passionate 
and blind resistance of the whites of the South. 

The hundreds of irritating incidents and epi- 
sodes belonging to the unprecedented conditions 
gradually worked up the feelings of the whites to a 
very high pitch of exasperation. The worst fears 
of the most timid bade fair to be realized, for the 
negroes, certain of their political supremacy, sure 
of the sympathy and support of Congress and the 
War Department, and filled with the conceit pro- 
duced by the flattery and cajolery of the carpet- 
bag sycophants, were beginning to assume an at- 
titude which would have been threatening and of- 
fensive if their skins had been white as snow. 

Beyond the valley, still farther away from 
Shady Dale, was the negro church, of which the 
Rev. Jeremiah Tomlin was the admired pastor. 
Ordinarily, there were services in this church 
three times a week, and then there were services 
every night in the week, and sometimes all night 



226 JOEL CHANDLER HARRIS. 

long. The Rev. Jeremiah was a preacher who had 
lung-power to spare, and his voice was well cal- 
culated to shatter our old friend the welkin, so dear 
to poets and romancers. But, if there was no re- 
vival in progress, the nights devoted to prayer- 
meetings were mainly musical, and the songs, sub- 
dued by the distance, floated across the valley to 
Gabriel with entrancing sweetness. 

One Wednesday night when the political condi- 
tions were at their worst, Gabriel Tolliver ob- 
served that while the lights were lit in the church 
there was less singing than usual. This attracted 
his attention and then excited his curiosity. List- 
ening more intently, he failed to hear the sound of 
a single voice lifted in prayer, in song or in preach- 
ing. The time was after nine o'clock, and this 
silence was so unusual that Gabriel concluded to 
investigate. 

He made his way across the valley, and was 
soon within ear-shot of the church. The pulpit 
was unoccupied, but Gabriel could see that a white 
man was standing in front of it. The inference 
to be drawn from his movements and gestures was 
that he was delivering an address to the negroes. 
The speaker was a stranger. He was flushed as 
with wine, and appeared to have no control of his 
hands, for he flung them about wildly. 

Gabriel crept closer, and climbed a small tree, 
in the hope that he might hear what the stranger 
was saying ; but listen as he might, no sound of the 
stranger's voice came to Gabriel. The church 
was full of negroes, and a strange silence had 
fallen on them. He marvelled somewhat at this, 
for the night was pleasant, and every window was 
open. The impression made upon the young fel- 



KNIGHTS OF WHITE CAMELLIA. 227 

low was very peculiar. Here was a man flinging 
his arms about in the heat and ardor of argument 
or exhortation, and yet not a sound came through 
the windows. 

Suddenly, while Gabriel was leaning forward 
trying in vain to hear the words of the speaker, a 
tall, white figure, mounted on a tall white horse, 
emerged from the copse at the rear of the church. 
At the first glance Gabriel found it difficult to dis- 
cover what the figures were, but as horse and rider 
swerved in the direction of the church he saw that 
both were clad in white and flowing raiment. 
While he was gazing with all his eyes, another fig- 
ure emerged from the copse, then another and an- 
other, until thirteen white riders, including the 
leader, had come into view. Following one an- 
other at intervals, they marched around the 
church, observing the most profound silence. The 
hoofs of their horses made no sound. Three times 
this ghostly procession marched around the 
church. Finally they paused, each horseman at 
a window, save the leader, who, being taller than 
the rest, had stationed himself at the door. 

He was the first to break the silence. "Broth- 
ers, is all well with you?" his voice was strong and 
sonorous. 

''All is not well," replied twelve voices in 
chorus. 

''What do you see?" the impressive voice of the 
leader asked. 

"Trouble, misery, blood !" came the answering 
chorus. 

"Blood?" cried the leader. 

"Yes, blood !" was the reply. 

"Then all is well!" 



228 JOEL CHANDLER HARRIS, 

**So mote it be ! All is well !" answered twelve 
voices in chorus. 

Once more the ghostly procession rode round 
and round the church, and then suddenly disap- 
peared in the darkness; Gabriel rubbed his eyes. 
For an instant he believed that he had been dream- 
ing. If ever there were goblins, these were they. 
The figures on horseback were so closely draped in 
white that they had no shape but height, and their 
heads and hands were not in view. 

It may well be believed that the sudden ap- 
pearance and disappearance of these apparitions 
produced consternation in the Kev. Jeremiah's con- 
gregation. The stranger who had been address- 
ing them was left in a state of collapse. The ne- 
groes sat paralyzed for an instant after the white 
riders had disappeared; but only for an instant, 
for, before you could breathe twice, those in the 
rear seats made a rush for the door. This move- 
ment precipitated a panic, and the entire congre- 
gation joined in a mad effort to escape from the 
building. The Rev. Jeremiah forgot the dignity 
of his position and, umbrella in hand, emerged 
from a window, bringing the upper sash with him. 
Benches were overturned, and wild shrieks came 
from the women. The climax came when five 
pistol-shots rang out on the air. 

Gabriel, in his tree, could hear the negroes run- 
ning, their feet sounding on the hard clay like the 
furious scamper of a drove of wild horses. Years 
afterward, he could afford to laugh at the events of 
that night ; but, at the moment, the terror of the 
negroes was contagious, and he had a mild attack 
of it. 

The pistol-shots occurred as the Rev. Jeremiah 



KNIGHTS OF WHITE CAMELLIA, 229 

emerged from the window, and were evidently in 
the nature of a signal, for before the echoes of the 
reports had died away the white horsemen came 
into view again and rode after the fleeing negroes. 
Gabriel did not witness the effect of this move- 
ment, but it came near driving the fleeing negroes 
into a frenzy. The white riders paid little atten- 
tion to the mob itself, but selected the Rev. Jere- 
miah as the object of their solicitude. 

He had bethought him of his dignity when he 
had gone a few hundred steps, and found he was 
not pursued, and, instead of taking to the woods, 
as most of his congregation did, he kept to the 
public road. Before he knew it, or at least be- 
fore he could leave the road, he found himself es- 
corted by the entire band. Six rode on each side, 
and the leader rode behind him. Once he started 
to run, but the white riders easily kept pace with 
him, their horses going in a comfortable canter. 
When he found that escape was impossible, he 
ceased to run. He would have stopped, but when 
he tried to do so he felt the hot breath of the lead- 
er's horse on the back of his neck, and the sensa- 
tion was so unexpected and so peculiar that the 
frightened negro actually thought that a chunk of 
fire, as he described it afterward, had been applied 
to his head. So vivid was the impression made on 
his mind that he declared that he had actually seen 
the flame, as it circled around his head; and he 
maintained that the back of his head would have 
been burned off if ''the fire had been our kind of 
fire." 

Finding that he could not escape by running, he 
began to walk, and as he was a man of great flu- 
ency of speech he made an effort to open a conver- 



230 JOEL CHANDLER HARRIS. 

sation with his ghostly escort. He was perspiring 
at every pore, and this fact called for a frequent 
use of his red pocket-handkerchief. 

"Blood!" cried the leader, and twelve voices 
repeated the word. 

''Bosses — Masters ! What have I ever done to 
you?" To this there was no reply. ''I have never 
hurt any of you ; I have never had the idea of harm- 
ing you." Still there was no response, and the 
Rev. Jeremiah made bold to take a closer look at 
the riders who were within range of his vision. 
He nearly sank in his tracks when he saw that 
each one appeared to be carrying his head under 
his arm. ''In the name of the Lord!" he cried, 
"who are you all anyway? And what are you 
going to do with me?" 

Silence was the only answer he received, and 
the silence of the riders was more terrifying then 
their talk would have been. "If you want to know 
who has been trying to occasion trouble, I can tell 
you, and mighty quick." But apparently the white 
riders were not seeking for information. They 
asked no questions, and the perspiration flowed 
more freely than ever from the Rev. Jeremiah's 
pores. Again his red handkerchief came out of 
his pocket, and again the rider behind him cried 
out "Blood," and the others repeated the word. 

The ghostly cortege continued to escort him 
along the road. The white riders went with him 
through town and to the Tomlin place. Once 
there each one filed between him and the gate he 
was about to enter, and the last word of each was 
"Beware!" 

(By permission of Doubleday, Page & Co.) 



EMMANUEL C. DE LA MORINIeRE. 

Father De La Moriniere was born in Basse-Terre, 
Guadalupe, April 17, 1856. During his childhood his 
family moved to New Orleans, where he was educated at 
the Jesuit College. Since his ordination, though absent 
from time to time, his duties have kept him chiefly in New 
Orleans. He is now at Spring Hill College, near Mobile, 
Ala. He is one of the most noted of the pulpit orators of 
this country. 

Two of his most widely known addresses are the one 
on Chivalry, and the other that delivered on the occasion 
of the Centennial Anniversary of the Battle of New 
Orleans. 



ADDRESS ON THE ONE-HUNDREDTH ANNI- 
VERSARY OF THE BATTLE OF 
NEW ORLEANS. 

By an act of Congress of April 8th, 1812, and 
after much heated discussion, the territory of Or- 
leans, with a population of 75,000 inhabitants, had 
been admitted into the Union as the State of Lou- 
isiana, with the same privilege as the thirteen 
original colonies. 

Under the prudent leadership of Governor Wil- 
liam C. C. Claiborne, whose sterling integrity had 
withstood all the attacks of his political enemies 
and baffled all their plans. New Orleans was 
calmly pursuing her course of self-aggrandizement 
when the storm, unlocked for and unforecast, 
broke over her head. 

(16) 



232 EMMANUEL C. DE LA MORINIERE. 

The thunders of a war between Great Britain 
and the United States shook our new-born nation. 

Unaccompanied by the grim fierceness and ap- 
palling fatalities of the present colossal ' conflict 
beyond the seas, in which millions of troops are 
grappling in a life and death struggle, unparalleled 
in the history of all the worlds, it nevertheless for 
three years doomed the country to that accursed 
blight which followed in its train. Our merchant 
ships, the white doves of commerce, were driven 
from the sea or turned from their purpose to be 
the ministers of destruction ; the threads of social 
and business intercourse which had become woven 
into a thick web between the two countries since 
the Declaration of Independence were suddenly 
snapped asunder. The resources of the land were 
drained by taxation. Villages on the Canadian 
frontiers were laid in ashes. The metropolis of the 
Republic was captured, her Capitol given to the 
flames, while gaunt disasters raged everywhere 
within our borders. 

But these were only the first shadows of the 
momentous eclipse, the twilight usher of the dark- 
ness to be broken only by the blazing lightnings of 
the battle and the siege. 

And the battle and the siege were at our doors. 
The flower of Britain's chivalry landed on our 
coast, and the followers of Wellington and his 
kinsman, Pakenham, learned to their cost of what 
metal a Louisianian is made. They learned a les- 
son which their prowess on foreign fields had 
failed to teach them, that the man who fights for 
his hearthstone, who fights in defense of those who 
call him father or brother or husband or son, has 



THE BATTLE OF NEW ORLEANS. 233 

the strength of ten, and that his valor is not to be 
measured by any known standard of soldierly cour- 
age. 

One of the great lessons of every war is that 
it is impossible for a people without military 
organization to withstand the inroad of a veteran 
army. 

What defense could be made by the inhabitants 
of New Orleans in 1815? What could a popula- 
tion of civilians, however hightoned and resolute, 
do against flying artillery and batteries of cannon 
planted on every commanding eminence? What 
could they do against the onset of trained veterans 
led by skillful chiefs? What could our forbears 
do? 

What, with the help of their brothers from 
Mississippi and Kentucky and Tennessee, and un- 
der the spell of Andrew Jackson's inspiration, we 
know they did do — they won. 

Now, when we remember that it was when, 
with freighted keel, the first steamer had glided 
down the Ohio into the Mississippi; when King 
Cotton had just donned his diadem ; when vast im- 
ports and exports made possible by this new means 
of communication were filling our warehouses and 
flooding our markets ; when the Crescent City, as 
yet in her infancy, was saluting, with lustrous won- 
dering eyes, with glad smiling lips, the star of her 
prosperity rising above the onrushing waters of 
her mighty river, that the bolt sped and struck 
which might have shattered all her hopes and 
quenched forever that gleaming orb. When we re- 
flect that that engagement, which began on the 
plains of Chalmette and closed in the heart of our 



234 EMMANUEL C. DE LA MORINIERE. 

city, might have resulted in a defeat, or, if in a vic- 
tory, only after a protracted struggle such as v^as 
witnessed fifty years later. When we reflect that 
it came to an end in a few days with so small a 
loss of life on our side as to be the marvel of all 
generations past and to come, have we not reason, 
think you, to give thanks to that beneficent God, to 
Whose right hand — in the language of Andrew 
Jackson, which we should never tire of repeating — 
was due the victory ? 

To that victory is to be ascribed the peace, con- 
cord and love which now exist between two great 
nations, and that peace, as our program takes spe- 
cial pains to emphasize, forms the basic ground 
and motive of this centennial demonstration. 

That gracious Providence which overrules all 
things for the best, ''from seeming evil still educ- 
ing good," as the poet has it, has so constituted our 
natures that the violent excitement of the passions 
in one direction is followed by reaction in an op- 
posite direction, and the sooner for the violence. 

If it were not so; if injuries inflicted and re- 
taliated led of necessity to new retaliations, with 
forever accumulating compound interest of re- 
venge, then the world would have been years ago 
turned into an earthly hell. But it is not so; all 
history teaches a different lesson. It teaches that 
when the last curtain falls on the tragic drama of 
war, anger yields room to sympathy, and ani- 
mosity to friendliness. No wonder, then, that 
when the cloud had rolled away and the treaty of 
Ghent had been signed England and America 
locked hands and hearts in a clasp never, we trust, 
to be loosened any more. And nothing was more 



THE BATTLE OF NEW ORLEANS. 235 

natural than that reconciliation, for the purpose of 
their strife and alienation was only transient, 
whereas perennial are the bonds of union between 
them, the bonds between children of a common an- 
cestry, speaking the same language, soothed in in- 
fancy by the same words of love and tenderness, 
and hardened into vigorous manhood under the 
bracing influence of institutions drawn from the 
same founts of freedom. It is well, in these our 
times, when a moral night seems to enshroud the 
earth, and to plunge it into the abyss of a well- 
nigh universal sanguinary strife; it is, indeed, 
well to plead the cause of peace, and the cause of 
a higher, purer patriotism. 

It is well to think that, if those in whose hands 
are the fate and destinies of empires and republics 
would cease to enthrone the soldier and idolize the 
sword ; if they would pause long enough to remem- 
ber that the sons of the soil are, above all, the sons 
of a heavenly Father Who, sooner or later, will 
avenge every drop of His children's blood shed in 
wantonness ; then would the grandeur of mortal 
rulers be discerned in the blessings which they 
have secured, and not in the hecatombs which they 
have driven to the shambles; in the triumphs of 
benevolence, and not in the ravages of machine 
guns ; then would the voice of peace, crying from 
countless blood-sodden battle grounds, crying from 
a wilderness of entombing trenches, be heard in 
the world; then would be forged the first link of 
that mighty chain in which all humanity is riveted 
to the throne of its Father and its Gk)d. 

If reviewing the trials of Louisiana through 
the century that is gone I turn from the thoughts 



236 EMMANUEL C. DE LA MORINIERE, 

of peace suggested by the present occasion to the 
crimson records of another war, through which it 
was decreed in heaven she should not pass un- 
scathed, as in 1815, it is because I deem it my 
duty not to leave unspoken to-day the tribute of 
our State — yea, of the South — to our gallant dead 
fallen in a conflict far more disastrous and mem- 
orable than that which we are recalling on this an- 
niversary. I owe it to myself and to every one 
present here to say from this sacred rostrum, to 
say in the presence of God that we keep alive no 
personal enmities, no feud, no antagonism. We 
have recovered from the humiliation of defeat, and 
forgetting its bitterness have come back with 
strong hands and earnest hearts to that Union 
which our forbears helped to build. 

Emerging from that four years' night of gloom 
and despair, we press forward with our brothers 
of the North to promote the interest and fame of 
our common country. In every patriotic endeavor 
and aspiration they have found us at their side, 
sharing the same dangers, bearing the same hard- 
ships and revering the same flag. We give God 
thanks for all this. We give Him thanks that, 
when the image of Southern independence van- 
ished forever behind the storm cloud of battle, in 
its stead arose before our tearful sight the vision 
of Columbia, calling her sons of the South back to 
their place of honor and service by the family fire- 
side. 

I shall not rehearse the material losses entailed 
upon our Southland in the giant struggle of half a 
century ago. For — again to God be the Glory ! — 
we have repelled in those decades the poverty and 



THE BATTLE OF NEW ORLEANS. 237 

destitution which, after the most disastrous cam- 
paign for which soldiers ever buckled on armor, 
had invaded our stronghold. We have recaptured, 
as if by storm, that prosperity which once was 
ours, and thus was fulfilled the prophecy of Alex- 
ander Stephens that our waste places would, at no 
distant day, blossom as the rose. Yet, though de- 
votion to the Commonwealth, a filial love of its 
flag, its progress and expansion, is the all-absorb- 
ing feeling of the South now, not all the rains that 
fall upon the sides of the Alleghanies, not all the 
swift tides and torrents that swell the banks of the 
Potomac or the Rappahannock, or the Cumberland, 
or the Mississippi, can wash away from our South- 
ern hearts the memory of the Southern blood that 
was shed for our defense in the dark days of 1861. 
No mountain can hide from our eyes those grave- 
yard highways, 

''Where every turf beneath the feet 
Hath been a soldier's sepulchre." 

No river can sink beneath its bed the white 
bones that once choked its channels. Hence it is 
that, with those memories deep in their breasts, 
those who wore the gray, and their children's chil- 
dren, will yearly gather till '*Earth and seas and 
skies are rended" to proclaim in the face of the 
world that they have not forgotten, will never for- 
get, can never forget their Confederate dead. 

Nbr do we forget, nor can we forget, those glo- 
rious women who rose like the maids of Saragossa 
or the mothers of Sparta or the f oremothers of the 
American Revolution, and conjured men whom 
they loved more than life, but less than honor, to 
leave them to poverty and penury, and speed to the 



238 EMMANUEL C, DE LA MORINIERE, 

front and woo a soldier's death, if need be, under 
the sacred shadows of the Stars and Bars; the 
women of Louisiana and the South, the women of 
the days of the Confederacy. 

We bow low before the heroism of that aged 
Louisiana mother, who, on the eve of the battle of 
New Orleans, wrote to Governor Claiborne: "My 
four sons are at the front with Andrew Jackson. 
I regret having no others to offer my country; I 
am bent under the load of years, but, if my services 
in caring for the wounded should be thought use- 
ful, command me, and in spite of age and distance 
I shall hasten to New Orleans." That lofty senti- 
ment found a response in thousands of women's 
hearts through the long dark hours of the early 
sixties. 

The presence of their sympathies and of their 
aid, the potency of their prayers and the eloquence 
of their smiles and their tears were priceless in the 
inspiration which they brought, and more effectual 
than an army witji banners. 

And when the struggle was over, in loving 
memory of the noble slain they dotted our land 
with soldiers' monuments, gathered the sacred 
dust, mounted guard by unmarked graves, and 
kept in freshness unfading the remembrance of the 
martyrs who had fallen during that eventful epoch. 

I have conjured from the past the story of these 
trials and sacrifices that we might remember to 
what achievements we have fallen heirs, and, re- 
membering, give thanks to God for so glorious a 
heritage. 

(By permission of Father De La Moriniere.) 



DANSKE DANDRIDGE. 

Danske Bedinger was born in Copenhagen while her 
father was living in the capital of Denmark as the United 
States Minister. When, in 1877, she married Stephen 
Dandridge, she made her home in Shepherdstown, W. Va. 

She is the author of Rose Brake, and of Joy and Other 
Poems. She is a lover of nature, a writer of great deli- 
cacy of expression and purity of thought. 



THE SPIRIT AND THE WOOD SPARROW. 

FROM 

JOY AND OTHER POEMS. 

'TWAS long ago ; 

The place was very fair ; 
And from a cloud of snow 

A spirit of the air 
Dropped to the earth below. 

It was a spot by man untrod, 
Just where 

I think is only known to God. 
The spirit, for a while, 

Because of beauty freshly made, 
Could only smile; 
Then grew the smiling to a song, 

And as he sang he played 

Upon a moonbeam-wired cithole 

Shaped like a soul. 



240 THE SPIRIT AND WOOD SPARROW, 

There was no ear 
Or far or near, 

Save one small sparrow of the wood, 
That song to hear. 

This, in a bosky tree, 
Heard all, and understood 
As much as a small sparrow could 

By sympathy. 
Twas a fair sight 

That morn of Spring, 
When on the lonely height 

The spirit paused to sing. 
Then through the air took flight 
Still lilting on the wing. 
And the shy bird, 
Whom all had heard, 
Straightway began 
To practice o'er the lovely strain ; 
Again, again ; 

Though indistinct and blurred, 
He tried each word, 
Until he caught the last far sounds that fell 
Like the faint tinkle of a fairy bell. 

Now when I hear that song. 

Which has no earthly tone. 
My soul is carried with the strain along 

To the everlasting Throne ; 
To bow in thankfulness and prayer. 
And gain fresh faith, and love, and patience,there 

(By permission of G. P. Putnam's Sons.) 



MATTHEW FONTAINE MAURY. 

It lias sometimes been carelessly, and without reflection, 
said that there were no men of science in the Old South. 
The most casual glance over the list of our writers shows 
the untruthfulness of this statement. Audubon, the great- 
est ornithologist and naturalist of America, lived in New 
Orleans; Riddel, the inventor of the binocular micro- 
scope, came from the same city; the Le Contes, of Georgia, 
have made valuable contributions to physics and geology; 
Dr. Long, also of Georgia, was the discoverer of anesthet- 
ics, one of the greatest blessings of mankind; Elliott, the 
botanist, was a South Carolinian, and Maury a Virginian. 

Matthew Fontaine Maury was born in Spottsylvania 
County, Virginia, January 24, 1806, and died in Lexington, 
Va., February 1, 1873. The greater part of his boyhood 
and youth was spent in Tennessee. He entered the 
navy and rose to the position of Lieutenant, but in 1839 
was so crippled through an accident that he retired from 
active service. He was made, in 1844, superintendent of 
the National Observatory. He served the Confederate 
Navy both in Richmond and in Europe. At the close of 
the war he went to Mexico from the West Indies, where he 
had come to prepare for using the torpedo mines that he 
had invented. He served in the cabinet of Maximillian 
until the overthrow of that monarch by the revolution of 
1866. He then went back to England, declined the offer 
of Emperor Napoleon III to take charge of the French Im- 
perial Observatory, and at length accepted the position of 
Professor of Physics at the Virginia Military Institute. 

His essays are said to have led to the establishment of 
the Naval Academy at Annapolis; his Physical Geography 
of the Sea caused Humboldt to declare that he had created 

a new science; his Navigation and his Geographies were 
long used as texts; his Charts of Winds and Sea Currents 

won him honors from every scientific body in the world, 
and Cyrus W. Field, in speaking of the Atlantic Cable, 
said, "I did the work, England gave the money, and Maury 
furnished the brains." 



242 MATTHEW FONTAINE MAURY. 



FREE NAVIGATION OF THE AMAZON. 

FROM 

THE AMAZON AND THE ATLANTIC SLOPES 

OF SOUTH AMERICA. 

Washington, 1853. 

The policy of the United States is the ''policy 
of commerce/' and we do not wish to be on any 
terms with Brazil but those of peace and good will. 
We buy now half of all her coffee, and coffee is her 
great staple. She is a good customer of ours, too, 
and we value highly our present friendly relations 
with her; but as highly as we value them we 
value still more the everlasting principles of right. 

We want nothing exclusive up the Amazon ; but 
we are nearer to the Amazon, or rather to the 
mouth of it, than any other nation, not even ex- 
cepting Brazil herself, if we count the distance in 
time and measure from Rio de Janeiro, and from 
New York or New Orleans as the centers of the 
two countries. And, therefore, it may well be 
imagined that this miserable policy by which Bra- 
zil has kept shut up and is continuing to keep shut 
up from man's — from Christian, civilized, en- 
lightened man's — use the fairest portion of God's 
earth will be considered by the American people 
as a nuisance, not to say an outrage. 

China wants to trade with us, but Japan stands 
by the wayside, and shuts herself up and out of the 
world. She is not in the fellowship of nations, and 
we send a fleet (Perry's expedition) there to re- 
mind her that she cannot be in the world and live 



FREE NAVIGATION OF AMAZON, 243 

out of it at one and the same time. God has put the 
land she occupies on this earth, and she cannot 
take it away by her poHcy. 

The five Spanish-American republics want to 
trade up and down the Amazon ; but Brazil, worse 
than Japan on the wayside, stands right in the 
doorway and says: ''Nay, I will neither use the 
Amazon myself, nor permit others to use it. That 
great up-country shall remain a social and a com- 
mercial blank to blot the face of the earth.'' 

Is it the policy of the great commercial nations 
to permit that? No ; it is no more their policy than 
a state of war, and not of peace, is their policy. 

In fine, the people of this country cannot look 
with indifference at the policy Brazil has pursued, 
and seems disposed to continue to pursue, with re- 
gard to the Amazon. 

She and her rulers have had it for 300 years, 
and the first practical step towards subduing it 
and developing its resources has yet to be taken. 

Under these circumstances it appears to me that 
Brazil, if she persists in her dog-in-the-manger 
policy with regard to the Amazon and the coun- 
tries drained by it, runs some risk of getting up a 
discussion among the enlightened and commercial 
nations as to what her rights to the Amazon are, 
and whether they are not in danger of being for- 
feited by non-usage. 

This certainly is the question of the day. The 
problem of the age is that of the free navigation of 
the Amazon and the settlement of the Atlantic 
slopes of South America. It is to draw after it con- 
sequences of the greatest importance, results of the 
greatest magnitude. 



244 MATTHEW FONTAINE MAURY. 

It is to stand out in after times, and among all 
the great things which this generation has already 
accomplished, as the achievement, in its way, of the 
nineteenth century. The time will come when the 
free navigation of the Amazon will be considered 
by the people of this country as second in import- 
ance, by reason of its conservative effects, to the 
acquisition of Louisiana, if it be second at all ; for 
I believe it is to prove the safety-valve of this 
Union. I will not press this view or its bearings 
any further at this time ; though I think statesmen 
will agree with me that this Amazonian question 
presents a bright streak to the far-seeing eye of 
the patriot. But, while the free navigation, the 
settlement and the cultivation and the civilization 
of the Amazon, is pregnant with such great things, 
it is an achievement which is not to be worked out 
by the hand of violence, nor is it to be accomplished 
by the strong arm of power. It is for science with 
its lights; for diplomacy, with its skill; for com- 
merce, with its influence, and peace, with its bless- 
ings, to bring about such a great result as would 
be the free navigation of the Amazon — ^the settle- 
ment and cultivation of the great Atlantic slopes 
of South America. 



THE GULF STREAM, 245 



THE GULF STREAM. 

FROM 

SAILING DIRECTIONS. 

It is not necessary to associate with oceanic 
currents the idea that they must of necessity, as on 
land, run from a higher to a lower level. So far 
from this being the case, some currents of the sea 
actually run up-hill, while others run on a level. 
The Gulf Stream is of the first class. In a paper 
read before the National Institute, in 1844, I 
showed why the bottom of the Gulf Stream ought, 
theoretically, to be an inclined plane, running up- 
wards. If the Gulf Stream be 200 fathoms deep in 
the Florida Pass, and but 100 fathoms off Hat- 
teras, it is evident that the bottom would be lifted 
100 fathoms within that distance; and, therefore, 
while the bottom of the Gulf Stream runs up-hill, 
the top preserves the water-level, or nearly so ; for 
its banks are of sea-water, and, being in the ocean, 
are themselves on a water-level. 

I have also, on a former occasion, pointed out 
the fact that, inasmuch as the Gulf Stream is a bed 
of warm water, lying between banks of cold water 
— ^that as warm water is lighter than cold — ^there- 
fore, the surface of the Gulf Stream ought, theo- 
retically, to be in the shape of a double inclined 
plane, like the roof of a house, down which we may 
expect to find a shallow surface or roof current, 
running from the middle towards either edge of 
the stream. 



246 MATTHEW FONTAINE MA URY. 

The fact that this roof -current does exist has 
been fully established by officers of the navy. 
Thus, in lowering a boat to try a current, they 
found that the boat would invariably be drifted 
towards one side or other of the stream, while the 
vessel herself was drifted along in the direction of 
it. 

This feature of the Gulf Stream throws a gleam 
of light upon the location of the gulf weed, by prov- 
ing that its place of growth cannot be on this side 
(west) of that stream. No gulf weed is ever found 
west of the axis of the Gulf Stream ; and, if we ad- 
mit the top of the stream to be higher in the middle 
than at the edges, it would be difficult to imagine 
how the gulf weed should cross it, or get from one 
side of it to the other. 

The inference, therefore, would be, that, as all 
the gulf weed which is seen about this stream is on 
its eastern declevity, the location of the weed must 
be somewhere within or near the borders of the 
stream, and to the east of the middle. And this 
idea is strengthened by the report of Captain 
Scott, a most intelligent shipmaster, who informs 
me that he has seen the gulf weed growing on the 
Bahama Banks. 



JAMES MATTHEWS LEGARE. 

James Matthews Legare, a native of Charleston, 
S. C, was born in 1823. He died in Aiken, S. C, in 1859. 
He was a practicing lawyer, and a rather unsuccessful in- 
ventor. He has written only a few poems, but these are 
far more finished and polished in style than most of the 
verse of his contemporaries. 



HAW-BLOSSOMS. 

While yester evening, through the vale 
Descending from my cottage door, 
I strayed, how cool and fresh a look 
All nature wore. 

The calmias and golden-rods, 
And tender blossoms of the haw, 
Like maidens seated in the wood. 
Demure, I saw. 

The recent drops upon their leaves 
Shone brighter than the bluest eyes, 
And filled the little sheltered dell 
Their fragrant sighs. 

Their pliant arms they interlaced. 
As pleasant canopies they were ; 
Their blossoms swung against my cheek 
Like braids of hair. 

(17) 



248 JAMES MATTHEWS LEGARE. 

And when I put their boughs aside 
And stooped to pass, from overhead 
The little agitated things 
A shower shed 

Of tears. Then thoughtfully I spoke : 
Well represent ye maidenhood, 
Sweet flowers. Life is to the young 
A shady wood. 

And therein some like golden-rods, 
For grosser purposes designed, 
A gay existence lead, but leave 
No germ behind. 

And others, like the calmias. 

On cliffsides inaccessible, 

Bloom paramount, the value with sweets 

Yet never filled. 

But underneath the glossy leaves, 
When, working out the perfect law. 
The blossoms white and fragrant still 
Drop from the haw ; 

Like worthy deeds in silence wrought 
And secret, through the lapse of years, 
In clusters pale and delicate 
The fruit appears 

In clusters pale and delicate. 
But waxing heavier each day. 
Until the many-colored leaves 
Drift from the spray. 



HAW-BLOSSOMS. 249 

Then pendulous, like amethysts 
And rubies, purple ripe and red, 
Wherewith God's feathered pensioners 
In flocks are fed. 

Therefore, sweet reader of this rhyme, 
Be unto these examples high. 
Not calmias and golden-rods 
That scentless die; 

But the meek blossoms of the haw. 
That fragrant are wherever wind 
The forest paths, and, perishing, 
Leave fruits behind. 



HENRY RIGHTOR. 

Henry Rightor was born in New Orleans, January 18, 
1870. He received his education in the University of 
Louisiana and at the Annapolis Naval Academy. He has 
divided his time between commercial pursuits and jour- 
nalism. He is known as one of the most skilled of the 
anglers who frequent the Gulf and neighboring waters. 
It is to be regretted that he has not turned his graphic 
pen to a description of out-door life and his fascinating 
sport. 

His writings include The Standard History of New Or- 
leans; Harliquinade, and the plays, Military Maid, and 
Striped Petticoat. 



THE CARNIVAL OF NEW ORLEANS. 

The Carnival of New Orleans is holiday in 
spirit and practical in fact; and ri^ht here is 
the charm and the strangeness of the thing. It 
is a heritage from the Latin Old World to its 
most faithful children of the New World. It 
cannot be imitated nor reproduced elsewhere, 
nor can the blue skies which swing above the 
glare and brass of its masks and revels. The in- 
spiration lies deep in the genius of the people. 
Life is held sweet in New Orleans. Money is for 
life, not life for money. The Carnival is not a 
commercial expedient. If it were, it would not 
escape the fate that befalls whatever is insin- 
cere. 



THE CARNIVAL OF NEW ORLEANS. 251 

In its earlier days the New Orleans Carnival 
was formless and inchoate. It represented mere- 
ly the hey-dey spirit of the times, a gorging for 
the fast. The streets were filled with a pleasing 
tumult and the imaginations of the people ran 
riot in the search for grotesque and unusual dis- 
guises. The evolution of the Carnival has been 
natural and normal. Its continuance has accen- 
tuated and refined the qualities of mind and tem- 
perament which gave it birth. 

To the great mass of the people, the Carni- 
val means the street pageantries, and chiefly 
those of Rex and his satellites. All the other 
events of the Carnival are more or less class af- 
fairs, but these street processions are the com- 
mon property of the well-to-do and the people; 
and the year round all the people look forward to 
them as beautiful dreams that come once a year. 

We are told that the Carnival in Louisiana 
harks back to a period as remote as Bienville's 
ascent of the Mississippi, and are given a pic- 
turesque circumstantial account of those hardy 
discoverers mooring their boats to the reedy 
banks of the river and celebrating the Carnival 
with great spirit and abandon upon the virgin 
soil. But I take it that this is at best a legend, 
and intended to accentuate the romanticism of 
our history and oast a certain glamour over the 
genesis of the Carnival. Records of the origin of 
the Carnival in New Orleans are meager; but^ 
the community having been from its inception 
Latin and Catholic, it is highly probable that 
masking on feast days was not unusual so early 
as the time of the first influx of colonists or 
refugees from the Spanish possessions. 



252 HENR Y RIGHT OR, 

In the time of Louis Philippe, all Paris went 
mad with the Carnival. It was the height of the 
city's gayety and splendor. Louisiana at that 
time was prosperous, and the sons of wealthy 
planters and merchants were sent to Paris to 
complete the educations begun in the parochial 
schools at home. In Paris these young men im- 
bibed the spirit of the Carnival. The tang of 
the mad time was sweet to their Latin blood, and 
they brought the custom home. We have accu- 
rate information that in 1827 a number of these 
young Creole gentlemen, fresh from their Pa- 
risian experiences, effected something like an or- 
ganization of the wandering and nondescript 
maskers who peopled the balconies and side- 
walks, and paraded — in very bad order and with 
worse discipline — the principal streets of the 
city. There appears to have been no further or- 
ganization of maskers until 1837, when there 
were even more maskers in line than before. 

The Bee of Mardi Gras, 1839 (Feb. 13), pub- 
lished a call requesting all those who were to take 
part in the masquerade to assemble at the The- 
atre d'Orleans (on Orleans Street, between Royal 
and Bourbon) not later than half -past three 
o'clock of the afternoon. The order of march of 
this parade was as follows: From the Theatre 
d'Orleans, Royal Street, St. Charles, Julia, Camp, 
Chartres, Conde, Esplanade, Royal. The parade 
was of the most indiscriminate and democratic 
nature, wagons crowded with merry negroes fol- 
lovnng in the wake of coaches and fiacres in 
which sat slim, silk-garbed patricians, while 
hundreds of maskers in the most diverse and 



THE CARNIVAL OF NEW ORLEANS. 253 

grotesque make-ups ran along on foot, shouting, 
cheering, imitating animals and throwing kisses 
and confetti at the sidewalks and galleries. Hav- 
ing marched its appointed route, the parade 
broke up towards nightfall, and later such of 
the maskers as had subscribed to the affair re- 
paired to the fancy dress and masquerade ball 
given at the old Orleans Theatre. Another ball 
of the same character was given on the same 
night in the ballroom of the old St. Louis Hotel. 

From 1840 to 1845 a number of parades simi- 
lar to that described above were given year by 
year; then a period of comparative inactivity in 
respect to the celebration of the Carnival in the 
form of parades appears to have intervened 
and continued until 1852. The parade, this year, 
traversed the leading streets of the city, which 
were positively jammed with admiring throngs, 
and at night the old Orleans Theatre was the 
center of attraction for all that the Crescent City 
held of beauty and fashion. The maskers of the 
day there received their friends ; and that be- 
wildering ball was long remembered as the gem 
of many such jewels clustering in the diadem of 
the Queen of the South." 

The earliest formal Carnival organization of 
any consequence in the South belongs, not to New 
Orleans, but to the neighboring city of Mobile. 
This was the Cowbellions, which originated the 
idea of presenting tableaux on vehicles moving 
through the streets. The Cowbellions gave its 
first parade in Mobile on New Year's Eve of the 
year 1831. The originator of Carnival pageantries 



254 HENR Y RIGHT OR. 

in New Orleans was the Mistick Krewe of Comus, 
which first appeared upon the streets at 9 
o'clock of the night of February 24^ 1857. The 
subject of representation was Milton's Paradise 
Lost. 

On February 1, 1872, under Colonel Walter 
Merriam and Edward C. Hancock, arrangements 
were made for the reign of Rex, our gracious, 
benignant king^ who favors us yearly with his 
jovial presence, to the delight of pleasure-lovers, 
and particularly of children. 

Among the first edicts of Rex was one which 
forbade the punishment of children during his 
reign. All quarrels and disagreements were like- 
wise to be suspended. Mardi Gras is a legal 
holiday in New Orleans. 

The first ''turnout" of Rex consisted of the 
"Boeuf Gras," a beautiful white bull, represent- 
ing the ''meat" to which the city was saying fare- 
well, and an immense crowd of maskers. Three 
silver keys (of the city) were turned over to 
Rex by the Mayor, and for a day pleasure reigned 
supreme. The Carnival was this year (1872) 
witnessed by the Grand Duke Alexis of Russia. 
Until 1877, however, no formal parade of floats 
was given. 

The society of New Orleans is, in a sense, built 
around the Carnival balls. They are the events 
of the year, and are awaited as eagerly by the 
debutantes lapped in luxury as are the parades 
fby the little street Arabs. The Momus ball is 
usually given the Thursday before Mardi Gras. 
Friday the Carnival german is danced. Monday 
afternoon the king comes in — Rex arrives — and 



THE CARNIVAL OF NEW ORLEANS, 255 

parades with the city militia. It is a day on the 
river, and all the boats join in welcoming to the 
city the King of Joy. Monday night the Proteus 
parade and ball take place; Tuesday about noon 
the Rex procession; and Tuesday night the Co- 
mus parade, and the Rex and Comus balls. The 
king and his court always attend, later at night, 
the ball of Comus. Wednesday morning finds an 
exhausted city. 

Improvised seats are put up everywhere for 
reviewing the Carnival. Rex's colors (green, yel- 
low and purple) are seen everywhere. At night 
the illuminations are magnificent, particularly at 
the various clubs, where large receptions are 
held. The air teems with light and color and re- 
sounds with the king's ovni anthem, "If Ever I 
Cease to Love." Immense crowds throng Canal 
Street and St. Charles Avenue up to Louisiana 
Avenue, to which point the parades of latter 
years proceed. But few accidents occur, good na- 
ture prevails, and the immense concourse of peo- 
ple is admirably managed by the authorities. The 
electric cars also play their part, without a mis- 
take usually. 

The processions are always headed by a title 
car and a chariot containing, the special monarch 
of the occasion. The Rex parade is always 
headed by the Boeuf Gras, or fatted ox. Mules 
and negroes form a necessary part of the proces- 
sion, and at night picturesque torches are car- 
ried. Most of the work connected with the Car- 
nival is now done in the city, and labor and ma- 
terials do not have to be imported. 

Nothing disagreeable occurs during the Car- 



256 HENRY RIGHTOR. 

nival time. Maskers often toss presents of candy 
to friends whom they perceive in the crowd. In 
the year 1900 pretty spirals of colored papers 
were thrown in profusion. 

To be queen at one of the balls is the greatest 
honor that can befall a New Orleans girl. But 
there are four or five maids of honor to each 
queen, so by the time the Carnival is over lalmost 
every popular debutante has had a Carnival 
honor. The queen and maids of various Carni- 
vals are conspicuous for grace and beauty and 
good taste in dress. Notes are sent by the mask- 
ers every year ''calling out'* ladies for the mask- 
ers' dances — the first five or six or seven on the 
programme. Ladies ''called out" are given par- 
ticular seats and enjoy the ball to the utmost. 
Handsome pins and souvenirs are given by the 
maskers to their partners in the dances, and, 
besides, many little trinkets that form part of the 
Carnival costumes. 

(By permission of Henry Rightor and of the 
Lewis Pub. Co.) • 



HENRY WATTERSON. 

''Marse Henry" was born in Washington, D. C, Feb- 
ruary 16, 1840. His eyesigiit was so poor it was deemed 
advisable not to send him to school, and he received his 
instruction from tutors. In 1858 he went to Tennessee, 
bis father's native State. In 1861 he edited the Nashville 
Banner. During the Civil War he was Chief of Scouts in 
General Joseph E. Johnston's army. Later he was aide 
to Forrest and then to Poik. 

He went to Louisville soon after the war, and in 1867 
became editor of the Journal and consolidated with it the 
Times and the Courier, thus founding the Louisville 
Courier-JoiLrnal. He is undoubtedly the most forcible edi- 
torial writer in the world, a man of culture, and an able 
public speaker. His life work has been the reconciliation 
of the North and the South. 

He has written Oddities of Southern Life and Char- 
acter, and The Compromises of Life. 



THE FATE OF THE UNCOMPROMISING. 

FROM 
THE COMPROMISES OF LIFE. 

Of what value were (the rich man's) mil- 
lions — of what value a single one of his dollars — 
if over and beyond his wants a penny was gained 
at the cost of the blood and tears of one good 
man or woman? Of what value were Napoleon's 
victories? But, stay! Let me relate a parable, 
a fable with a moral, which might have happened 
any time these years of wondrous, romantic 
achievement upon the modern arena of battle — 
our field of the cloth of gold — the Stock Exchange. 



258 HENRY WATTERSON. 

A young man of four or five and twenty, poor- 
ly clad, much under the average height, eyes 
deep-sunken and of piercing blackness, thin, 
pale lips, wanders vacantly, restlessly, about this 
Stock Exchange. He roams in and out of its gal- 
leries like a caged lion. He gazes wistfully over 
the balconies into the seething pit below. He 
sees men pushing, hauling, howling, money-mad. 
Day in and day out the same; always the same; 
though not for him. But, why not? Why not? 
He knows no one who could secure him access 
there. He has not a dollar, even if he could ob- 
tain access. And yet he has evolved out of the 
darkness and desolation that surround him a se- 
cret which, if he had the opportunity and the 
means of applying it, would yield him millions. 

Accident throws this young man into the so- 
ciety of a young woman nearly as poor as him- 
self, but beautiful and bright and noble. He loves 
her. She loves him. In the confidence of that 
love he discloses his secret to her. She listens, 
amazed, delighted. When he has finished his 
recital she exclaims : 

"Why, with this astonishing knowledge, ho^ 
comes it that you are in rags?" 

"Alas," says he, "I have not a penny in the 
world. I have not a friend in the world. With 
a knowledge that has power to revolutionize the 
fiscal universe, I am as helpless, hopeless, as a 
child!" 

This woman is a woman of genius. She is a 
woman of action. She seizes the situation with 
the instinct of her nature. 



FATE OF THE UNCOMPROMISING. 259 

''Why," she exclaims, "I have very little 
money; but you need very little. Take it. I 
know the President of the Stock Exchange. I 
will introduce you to him. He will introduce you 
upon the floor. You and this wondrous discovery 
of yours will do the rest." 

He falls upon his knees. He clasps her in his 
arms. He will go and get his millions. He will 
make her his wife — nay, they will be married at 
once — ^they will not delay a moment, because be- 
fore to-morrow's day and night are over they 
will be rich, famous, and will live forever happy, 
loving one another and doing good all the rest of 
their days. 

They are married. She is true to her word. 
He is true to his. He appears in the midst of 
that mad throng — this strange little man with 
the miraculous secret. No one observes him; no 
one divines his secret; only the President of the 
Stock Exchange, to whom he has been presented, 
and who has admitted him to the floor, has a 
friendly eye upon him, but, his lines laid, and 
his little all upon them, that awful secret begins 
tgi^work like magic. A thousand dollars is quickly 
ten thousand; ten thousand a hundred thousand; 
a hundred thousand a million ; a million fifty mil- 
lions; and, amid the crash of fortunes and the 
fury of such a tempest as the world never knew 
before, the President comes down from his seat 
and the young, the veritable young Napoleon of 
finance is personally made known to the money 
kings and princes, some of whom he has ruined, 
others of whom he has crippled, and all of whom 
he has brought to his feet ! 



260 HENRY WATTERSON. 

And the woman Who has enabled him to do all 
this? Oh, she has been in the gallery up there. 
She has seen it all. First frightened, then ap- 
palled, then delirious with joy, she has watched 
every turn of the wheel and known what turned 
it and who. The day is hardly half over. But 
the battle is fought and won. She bids him 
come — come to the arms of a loving wife — ^come 
to the rest of a happy home — come, with riches, 
honors, all that fortune that can give to man, e'en 
to that blessed peace that passeth understanding. 
Oh, no. He is not going to do anything of the 
kind. He has ruined only half the Stock Ex- 
change. He is going back to ruin the other half. 
Ah, well — what would you say of that man if, 
going back to ruin the other half, he lost all he 
had gained, including his original stake, and 
found himself at midnight, his mystery exploded 
and his fair young bride lying dead there be- 
fore him, dead of grief and despair? What would 
you say if he found himself alone, abandoned 
and locked safely and forever in prison walls? 
You know the story of Napoleon. It is related 
by Metternich that during that famous interview . 
at Dresden, that lasted, without food or interrup- 
tion, from eight in the morning till eight at night, 
he, representing the Allied Powers, offered Na- 
poleon peace with a larger France than he had 
found, and the confirmation of his dynasty, and 
that Napoleon refused it. He wanted all or noth- 
ing. He was going to ruin the other half. So 
he rushed upon Austria, and England, and Rus- 
sia — ^who were still able to stand against him — 
and Waterloo — ^and before the day was over he 



FATE OF THE UNCOMPROMISING. 261 

found himself a General without an army, an 
Emperor without a throne, flying for his life, 
to be caught and locked up like the ill-starred, 
unthinking, though brilliant, adventurer that he 
was. He had lost all, including his original 
stake^ — 

''He fought, and half the world was his; 

He died without a rood his own; 
And borrowed of his enemies 
Six feet of ground to lie upon." 

Do you not think he had better have compro- 
mised with the powers before it was too late? 
I do, and, standing, as I have often stood, beneath 
that lofty dome in the Hospital of the Invalides 
in Paris, and looking down into that marble 
crypt upon the wondrous tomb below, and con- 
ceiving the glory meant to be there celebrated, 
it has seemed to me a kind of gilded hell, with a 
sleeping devil, planned by fiends incarnate, to 
lure men, and particularly French men, to per- 
dition. And I never leave that place, with its 
dreary splendor, that somehow the words of a 
poor, ragged French poet do not come singing 
into my heart: 

''Oh, if I were Queen of France, 

Or, still better, Pope of Rome, 
I'd have no fighting men abroad. 

No weeping maids at home. 
All the world should be at peace. 

And if kings must show their might, 
Let those who make the quarrels 

Be the only ones to fight." 



262 HENRY WATTERSON. 

I would compromise war. I would compro- 
mise glory. I would compromise everything at 
that point where hate comes in, where misery 
comes in, where love ceases to be love, and life 
begins its descent in the shadow of the valley of 
death. 

I would not compromise Truth. I would not 
compromise the Right. I would not compromise 
conscience and conviction in any matter of pith 
and moment involving real duty. There are times 
when one must stand and fight; when one must 
fight and die. But such times are exceptional; 
they are most exceptional; one cannot, without 
making himself ridiculous, be always wrapping 
the flag around him and marching down to the 
footlights to display his extraordinary valor and 
virtue. And, in the long intervals, how often 
the best of us are mistaken as to what is Truth, 
as to what is Right, as to what is Duty. Too often 
they are what we would have them to be. Too 
often that which we want to do becomes that 
which we ought to do. 



fConyrioiited by Fox. Dnffield & Co.) 
(By permission of Duffield & Co.) 



THE BACHELORS DREAM, 263 



THE BACHELOR'S DREAM. 

FROM 

VARIOUS VERSE. 

BY 
CHARLES J. COLTON. 

As I SIT 'fore my bachelor fireplace 

I dream of a possible life: 
Of a dear little oak-bowered cottage, 

Of a sweet-faced and true little wife ; 
Of a glad coming home in the evening 

To a place where forgotten are cares; 
Of a wife's welcome, tender and heartfelt. 

Of a babe at my knee lisping prayers. 

(I poke up the fire — it blazes 

And burns with a flame strong and bright.) 
I gaze on a scene of the future 

In the glow of the coal's ruddy light. 
We're seated at eve in the garden ; 

My baby rolls 'round in the grass ; 
My wife with her fancy work by me. 

And the hours in sweet happiness pass. 

(Again does the poker its duty ; 

The fire does not burn as before; 
But alternate lights and grim shadows 

Are cast out upon the bare floor.) 
And now grim Death's angel is hovering 

O'er our suffering baby's white bed; 
The blue eyes are closing so gently, 

And the soul of our darling has fled. 

(18) 



264 CHARLES J. COLTON. 

(The light goes down dimmer and dimmer, 

And naught now is left but a spark.) 
My dear wife is tossing in anguish, 

And the sky of the future grows dark. 
I fold the white hands on her bosom, 

I stifle the half -uttered moan : 
No tears now — ^the well is exhausted, 

And my heart is as heavy as stone. 

Heigh-ho! all my dreams are but idle; 

Their fruition may Heaven restrain. 
(I give a few vigorous pushes, 

And the flames start out brightly again.) 
A tear! By my word! Why, how foolish! 

And o'er mythical baby and wife! 
Ah, no, I don't want my heart broken, 

So I'll stick to my bachelor life. 



DOMESTIC AMENITIES. 

''Man's work is from sun to sun, 
But woman's work is never done," 

Thus quoted Mrs. Prewett; 
Her husband loudly laughed, "Ha, ha! 
That shows how lazy women are; 

Why don't they go and do it?" 

(By permission of Mrs. Charles J. Colton.) 



THE LAND OF NOD. 265 



THE LAND OF NOD. 

BY 
CHARLES J. COLTON. 

Oh, don't you love the land of Nod, my baby, 

Where all the little children go at night, 
To wander 'neath the eyes of God, my baby, 

In those pleasant realms of ever-new delight? 
Where the gentle angels play with thee, my baby. 

And show thee many a soft and beauteous sight, 
Until they give thee back to me, my baby, 

When the morning glow has put the shades to 
flight? 

I wonder just what joys are there, my baby. 
That make you smile so often in your sleep! 

Are the ones who welcome you so fair, my baby? 
And the pleasures that you drink in, are they 
deep? 

And tell me, through the happy day, my baby, 
When those azure orbs are lit with childish 
glee, 
In the midst of all your romp and play, my baby, 
Does a longing for the night-time come to 
thee? 

Do you wish the glowing sun would sink, my 
baby, 

So the horses of the twilight, lightly shod. 
Could come for thee when eyelids blink, my baby, 

To bring thee once more to the land of Nod? 



JAMES GATTYS McGREGOR RAMSEY. 

James Ramsey, "one of the first-born of the sons of 
the State of Tennessee," was born in Knox County in 
1796. He was well educated and continued to be a stu- 
dent to the end of his life. He studied medicine, but never 
practiced. He became the President of the Bank of Ten- 
nessee, at Knoxville, and acquired considerable means. 
Practically everything that he had, however, was lost dur- 
ing the Civil War; even his home, containing the valuable 
historical papers that he had spent many years in col- 
lecting, was burned when the Federals took Knoxville. 

He served with credit in the Confederate Army. 

Much of the material for his Annals of Tennessee was 
collected from the private papers or learned from his con- 
versations with the participants in the scenes that he 
describes. 



NIC-A-JACK CAVE AND THE "NARROWS" 

OF THE TENNESSEE. 

FROM 

THE ANNALS OF TENNESSEE. 

One of the secret resorts of the freebooters 
who infested this region was an immense cavern 
still known as the Nic-a-Jack Cave. It is sit- 
uated in the side, or end rather, of Cumberland 
Mountain, at a point near the present depot of the 
Nashville and Chattanooga Railroad, and about 
thirty-six miles below Chattanooga. Its main en- 
trance is on the Tennessee River. The cave has 



NICK-A-JACK CAVE— ''NARROWS." 267 

been thus described by another: **At its mouth it 
is about thirty yards wide, arched overhead with 
pure granite, this being in the centre about fifteen 
feet high. A beautiful little river, clear as crystal, 
issues from its mouth. The distance the cave ex- 
tends into the mountains has not been ascertained. 
It has been explored only four or five miles. At 
the mouth the river is wide and shallow, but nar- 
rower than the cave. As you proceed further up 
the stream the cave becomes gradually narrower, 
until it is contracted to the exact width of the 
river. It is beyond this point explored only by 
water in a small canoe.'' The aboriginal name 
of this cavern was Te-calla-see. 

Into this vast cavern, for the purposes of con- 
cealment and murder, the banditti of the "Nar- 
rows" retired with their spoils and their victims. 
The place now enlivened and enriched by the 
genius of Fulton, and in view of the steamer and 
locomotive, was then the dismal and gloomy re- 
treat of savage cruelty and barbarian guilt. 

These impregnable fortresses of nature were 
as yet unoccupied by the sons of the forest. The 
hunter avoided and was deterred from entering 
them. The Indian, in his canoe, glided swiftly by 
them, as if apprehending that the evil genius of 
the place was there to engulf and destroy him. It 
remained for American enterprise to see and over- 
come them. 

About 1773 or 1774 some families in West Vir- 
ginia and North Carolina, attracted by the glow- 
ing accounts of West Florida, sought a settlement 
in that province. They came to the Holston fron- 
tier, built their boats and, following the stream. 



268 J AS. GATTYS McGREGOR RAMSEY. 

reached Natchez by water. Necessity drove them 
to employ Indians and Indian traders as pilots 
through the dangerous passes of the Tennessee 
River. Occasionally a boat was either by accident 
or design shipwrecked at some point between the 
Chickamauga Towns and the lower end of the Mus- 
cle Shoals. Its crew became easy victims of savage 
cruelty — its cargo fell a prey to Indian cupidity. 
As these voyages increased and the emigrants by 
water multiplied from year to year, so did the In- 
dian settlements all along the rapids also extend. 
The Chickamaugas were the first to settle there, 
and to become depredators upon the lives and prop- 
erty of emigrants. Conscious of guilt, unwilling to 
withhold their warriors from robbery and mur- 
der, they failed to attend with the rest of their 
tribe at treaties of peace, and refused to observe 
treaty stipulations when entered into by their na- 
tion. They broke up their old towns on and near 
Chickamauga, removed lower down on the river 
and laid the foundation of several new villages, 
afterwards known as the Five Lower Towns — 
Running Water, Nic-a-Jack, Long Island Villages, 
Crow Town and Look Out — which soon became 
populous, and the most formidable part of the 
Cherokee nation. They were situated near the 
Great Crossing on Tennessee, where the hunting 
and war parties, in their excursions from the 
south to the north, always crossed that stream. 
To this point congregated, with fearful rapidity, 
the worst men in all the Indian tribes. Murder- 
ers, thieves, pirates, banditti ; not of every Indian 
tribe only, but depraved white men rendered des- 
perate by crime, hardened by outlawry and re- 



NICK-A-JACK CAVE— ''NARROWS." 269 

morseless from conscious guilt, fled hither and 
confederated with barbarian aborigines in a com- 
mon assault upon humanity and justice, and in 
defiance of all laws of earth and heaven. These 
miscreants constituted for a number of years the 
Barbary Powers of the West — the Algiers of the 
American interior. 

They had become very numerous, composing a 
banditti of more than one thousand warriors. 
These had refused the terms of peace proposed by 
Christians, and had perpetrated the greatest out- 
rages upon the whole frontier. The Chickamauga 
Towns were the central points from which their 
detachments were sent out for murder and plun- 
der, and where guns and ammunition and other 
supplies were received from their allies in Florida. 
It was determined to invade and destroy these 
towns. North Carolina and Virginia, in con- 
junction, ordered a strong expedition against 
them, under the command of Colonel Evan Shel- 
by. It consisted of one thousand volunteers from 
the western settlements of these two States and a 
regiment of twelve months' men under the com- 
mand of Colonel John Montgomery. At this pe- 
riod (1779) the two governments were muchj 
straitened in their resources on account of the 
existing war of the Revolution, and were unable to 
make any advances for supplies or transportation 
necessary for this campaign. All these were pro- 
cured by the indefatigable and patriotic exertions 
and on the individual responsibility of Isaac 
Shelby. 

The army rendezvoused at the mouth of Big 



270 J AS. G ATT YE McGREGOR RAMSEY. 

Creek, a few miles above where Rogersville, in 
Hawkins County, now stands. Pirogues and 
canoes were immediately made from the adja- 
cent forest, and, on the 10th of April, the troops 
embarked and descended the Holston. So rapid 
was the descent of this first naval armament down 
the river as to take the enemy completely by sur- 
prise. They fled in all directions to the hills and 
mountains, without giving battle. Shelby pur- 
sued and hunted them in the woods, killed up- 
wards of forty of their warriors, burned down 
their towns, destroyed their corn and every arti- 
cle of provision, and drove away their great 
herds of cattle. 

In this sudden invasion Colonel Shelby de- 
stroyed eleven of their towns besides twenty thou- 
sand bushels of corn. He also captured a supply 
of stores and goods valued at £20,000, which had 
been provided by his majesty's agents for distri- 
bution at a general council of the Northern and 
Southern Indians. 



RICHARD HENRY Wn.DE. 

Richard Henry Wilde was born in Dublin, Ireland, 
September 24, 1789, and died in New Orleans, September 
10, 1847. He practiced law in Georgia, went to Congress 
from that State, abandoned law, went to Europe to study, 
devoting most of his time to Italian literature, and eventu- 
all} returned to America, becoming Professor of Consti- 
tutional Law in New Orleans. 

MY LIFE IS LIKE THE SUMMER ROSE. 
My life is like the summer rose 

That opens to the morning sky, 
But, ere the shades of evening close, 

Is scattered on the ground to die. 
But on that rose's humble bed 
The sweetest dews of night are shed, 
As if Heaven wept such waste to see — 
But none shall weep a tear for me. 

My life is like the autumn leaf 

That trembles in the moon's pale ray ; 
Its hold is frail — its state is brief — 

Restless and soon to pass away. 
Yet, ere that leaf shall fall and fade, 
The parent tree shall mourn its shade. 
The winds bewail the leafless tree — 
But none shall breathe a sigh for me. 

My life is like the print of feet 

Left upon Tampa's desert strand ; 
Soon as the rising tide shall beat. 

The tracks will vanish from the sand. 
Yet, as if grieving to efface 
All vestige of the human race. 
On that lone shore loud moans the sea — 
But none shall e'er lament for me. 



WILLIAM GILMORE SIMMS. 

William Gilmore Simms was the most prolific of our 
Southern writers. He contributed to almost every form of 
literature, lyric poems, dramas, histories, biographies, es- 
says, criticism, editorials, and novels. He began his career 
as an apprentice to a druggist, abandoned this work for 
the law, soon tired of law and turned his attention towards 
journalism and the beloved field of letters. He was chiefly 
self-educated, but widely read. He gathered about him 
in his Charleston home and his country house at Wood- 
lands the students and the authors of his day, stimulating 
and encouraging them in their work. His later days were 
spent in abject poverty; even his beautiful country home, 
like so many others in South Carolina, was given to the 
torch by the Federal troops. 

He died June 11, 1870, in his sixty-fifth year. 

His most widely read works are his novels, Yemassee; 
Partisan; Mellichampe; Katherine Walton; Eutaw; Scout; 
Foraj'^ers, and Woodcraft. 



BATTLE OF EUTAW. 

FROM 

EUTAW. 

The British general had planted himself at 
Eutaw as we have seen; and, regarding his posi- 
tion, justly, as one of some strength, and unaware 
of any movement of the American army, his atti- 
tude was that of one perfectly confident in his secu- 
rity. Stewart seems to have been a person of 
easy character, of the methodical old school, lym- 



BATTLE OF EUTAW. 273 

phatic and of very moderate ability. So effectual- 
ly had our partisans cut off all his communications 
with the country above him, and so careless did he 
seem in respect to the acquisition of intelligence, 
that not a scout, nor a patrol, not an agent of any 
sort, advised him of Greene's movements until his 
artillery was already sounding in his ears. It can- 
not be doubted that he was remiss in seeking in- 
telligence, and that he was in some degree the 
Victim of a surprise. The only patrol he is known 
to have sent out was captured. The fact is, so 
long as he believed the brigade of Marion to be 
below him, on the Santee, he felt no occasion for 
apprehension. He could not believe that Greene, 
with inferior numbers, wanting in munitions, 
and his men not yet recovered from their debili- 
tating marches, and the effects of the season, 
would venture an action without calling in all his 
parties. Without Marion's command, he felt very 
sure that he would not; and he had every reason 
to believe that no junction of Marion with the 
grand army had yet taken place. The skirmish, 
so recently had, between his flanking parties, 
and the little squad under Sinclair, which was 
driven below, was enough to assure him on this 
head. But Marion's movements were those of 
light. Stewart, rather slow himself, did not an- 
ticipate that the famous partisan would, by a 
forced march, in a single night, wind about him, 
steal above him and unite with the descending 
columns of Greene. Yet such was the case. 

The approach of 'Stewart to the Congaree had 
set Greene's army in motion. It would have 
greatly favored the prospects of victory to the 



274 WILLIAM GILMORE SIMMS. 

Americans if they could have brought the British 
to action upon that river, where, remote from 
their convoys and base of operations, any disaster 
would have proved fatal to their arms. But the 
rapid retreat of Stewart, w^ho felt this very dan- 
ger, lessened Greene's motives for activity ; and he 
proceeded on his advance with steps of greater 
leisure than when he set out. This deliberation 
also contributed to the encouragement of the Brit- 
ish commander, to whom it suggested the idea of 
a deficient confidence, and lack of resources, on 
the part of the Americans, which would keep him 
harmless for awhile. 

In one respect he was correct. The resources 
of the American army were very inferior. There 
seemed to be a single fatality about this time at- 
tending all the calculations of its commander. 
Not only did Congress fail to furnish adequate 
supplies, leaving the army lacking in all the neces- 
sary material and munitions of war, to say noth- 
ing of clothes, tents and camp utensils ; but there 
was a sad failure in its anticipated personnel 
which no present effort could supply. The army 
had recruited in health and improved in morale 
during its temporary respite upon the salubrious 
hills of Santee; but it had improved in no other 
respect. Greene, during all this period, had been 
vexing the echoes with calls, north and west, for 
supplies and reinforcements without receiving any 
more solid response than echo could impart. He 
had been promised eight hundred Pennsylvanians, 
but, when the call was made for them, they were 
no more available than the tributary spirits whom 
Owen Glendower kept in his employ, but whom he 
summoned in vain from regions of the vasty deep. 



BATTLE OF EUTAW. 275 

Wayne, with his Pennsylvanians, was diverted 
from the Carolinas to help in the siege of York- 
town, where the whole force of continentals under 
Washington did not exceed seven thousand men. 
Greene had been assured by Shelby and Sevier, 
of the succor of seven hundred gallant mountain- 
eers of the West ; such as had conquered Ferguson 
at King's Mountain; and the brave fellows were 
actually advancing to his support, when they were 
met by false tidings of his successful march toe- 
low — and that he had already driven the British 
into Charleston. The report had grown out of the 
dashing foray of the dogdays by the mounted 
men and cavalry of the army. But, however idle, 
it was mischievous. The mountaineers, taking for 
granted that nothing new remained for them to do, 
quietly traveled back to their hill-slopes. There 
was a fine body of recruits, some hundred and 
fifty, raised by Colonel Jackson in Georgia. Jack- 
son was a brave fellow, and a man of talents. 
Greene relied confidently on this force, at least; 
yet, to his horror, and that of their captain, the 
camp of the Georgians was entered by the pesti- 
lence, at the very moment when they were about 
to repair to the main army; the whole force of 
one hundred and fifty men were seized with 
smallpox at the same time, and more than fifty 
of them perished under this horrid disease. 

In brief, of all the anticipated reinforcements, 
none came but some few hundred levies from 
North Carolina; and the whole force of the 
Americans, at the reopening of the campaign, 
consisted of twenty-five hundred combatants all 
told. The main strength of the army, in which 



276 WILLIAM GILMORE SIMMS. 

it excelled the British, lay in its cavalry and 
mounted men. 

In regulars it was numerically inferior — in- 
ferior in artillery as well as in the number of its 
bayonets. But we must not anticipate these de- 
tails which events will sufficiently develop. 

Greene, fully conscious of his weakness, medi- 
tated a discontinuance of the pursuit of Stewart, 
as he felt it likely that the latter would fall too far 
back upon his base of operations to leave it pos- 
sible for him to make any successful demonstra- 
tion. He crossed the Congaree, moved slowly down 
the south bank, intending to take post at Motte's, 
and wait events and reinforcements. Lee, with 
the legion cavalry, was, meanwhile, pushed down 
upon the steps of Stewart to watch his movements, 
while General Pickens, in command of the state 
troops, was sent forward to observe and damage, 
if he might, the garrison which Stewart had left in 
Orangeburg. 

With the approach of Pickens this garrison 
hurried down after Stewart and joined him season- 
ably at Eutaw, while the troops from Fairlawn, 
five hundred in number, reinforced him about the 
same time, from the opposite quarter. When ap- 
prised by Pickens and Lee of these proceedings of 
Stewart, and of the concentration of his chief 
strength at Eutaw, Greene resolved to give him 
battle, the post at Eutaw being sufficiently far 
from Charleston to assure the American general 
against a too easy recovery by the British from 
disaster should he be successful in obtaining any 
advantages from the conflict. It also assured him 
against any ill consequences to himself other than 



BATTLE OF EUTAW. 277 

he might suffer from the conflict with the one 
army with which he was to contend. Satisfied 
now that Stewart was not unwilling to measure 
swords with him, he resumed his march accord- 
ingly with the determination to fight. 

On the 5th of September we find that Marion, 
supposed by Stewart to be still below him, has, by 
a night march, thrown his brigade seventeen miles 
above; and is stationed at Lauren's plantation, 
waiting the arrival of Greene. The latter reached 
the same point the same evening. Here the state 
troops under Pickens joined also. The 6th of Sep- 
tember was devoted to rest and preparation. On 
the evening of the 7th the army had reached Bur- 
delFs tavern on the Congaree road, seven miles 
above Eutaw. Here it bivouacked for the night, 
Greene taking his sleep beneath a china (pride of 
India) tree, one of its bulging roots answering for 
a pillow. His suite and ofticers generally were 
similarly couched. The night was mild and pleas- 
ant — the open air more grateful than salubrious, 
and the stars watched the sleepers without shed- 
ding any of those fiery signs over the heavens, 
which in olden time were supposed to give auguries 
of a bloody morrow. 

Up to this moment the British general had no 
notion of the near approach of his antagonist. 
Nor through the night did he receive any tidings 
of his presence. In the morning, so little were the 
British prepared to suspect the propinquity of the 
Americans that a rooting party of a hundred men 
were sent up the road to gather supplies of sweet 
potatoes from the farms and plantations along the 
river. They haa been some time gone when two 



278 WILLIAM GILMORE SIMMS, 

deserters from the American camp found their 
way to the British post and gave the first intima- 
tion to Stewart of his danger. He immediately dis- 
patched Coffin with his cavalry to protect and 
bring hack his foragers and reconnoiter and re- 
tard the American advance. 

Meanwhile the American army had been put in 
motion, marching down in four columns, eager, 
but moving slowly, as the whole country, both 
sides of the road, was in the woods. The first 
American line drove Stewart's advanced parties 
before them until they found shelter in their own 
line of battle. There was no faltering in this pro- 
gress. The militia of the Carolinas, when led by 
Marion and Pickens, never faltered, so long as 
the order was heard to fight! 

Stewart had drawn up his troops in a single 
line, extending from the Eutaw creek, beyond the 
Congaree road. The creek effectually covered his 
right; his left was "in air," to use the military 
language — i. e., not covered — and was supported 
by the cavalry of Coffin and a strong body of in- 
fantry, which were, in turn, under cover of the 
forest. The ground which the British army occu- 
pied was altogether in wood ; but a small distance 
in the rear was a cleared field, extending west, 
south and east of a dwelling-house which formed 
his castle of refuge, and bounded north by the Eu- 
taw spring — thickly fringed with brush and a 
stunted growth of forest. 

The skirmishing parties had done their work 
with spirit — ^had melted away on both sides and 
yielded to heavier battalions ; and the artillery of 
the first line and the militia of the two Carolinas, 



BATTLE OF EUTAW. 279 

all under Marion, went into the melee with the 
fierce passions of individual ardor and the stub- 
born and desperate resolve of veterans. Very ob- 
stinate and very bloody was the struggle, and 
singularly protracted. The artillery was worked 
admirably and continued to belch forth its iron 
rages until both of the three-pounders of the 
Americans and one of the British were disabled. 
Nor did the militia fail the artillery. Never, per- 
haps, had the militia done better — never, perhaps, 
quite so well. The regulars looked on with equal 
surprise and admiration as they beheld these 
brave fellows, whom it is so customary to dis- 
parage, as they rushed forward into the hottest of 
the enemy's fire, totally unmoved with the con- 
tinual fall of their comrades around them. 

'The veterans of Frederick of Prussia never 
showed themselves better fire-eaters!'' was the 
ejaculation of Greene. Regulars, you must look 
to your laurels ! 

And all this time these men of Marion, Pick- 
ens and Malmedy were enduring the fire of nearly 
-twice their number, for they were opposed to the 
entire British line. But such a conflict could not 
last. The two pieces of artillery were finally de- 
molished. The British, not able to stand their 
deadly fire, for every Southron was a rifleman, 
now pressed forward with the bayonet. This was 
a weapon which our militiamen did not use. They 
were compelled to recoil before it ; but not before 
every man had emptied his cartouch-box. They 
delivered seventeen rounds before they yielded, 
and retired by the wings to the covering parties on 
either hand. Rutledge, who was on the field with 

(19) 



280 WILLIAM GILMORE SIMMS. 

Greene, sobbed like a child with exultation as he 
clasped Marion about the neck when he came out 
of the action. 

"Our fellows have won immortal honor — im- 
mortal honor!" 

The issue thus presented of the bayonet 
brought the American second line into action. The 
militia, as we have seen, disappeared away upon 
the wings, retired into the woods and rallied for 
future work upon the flanking parties. 

The regulars, under Sumner, had felt the ex- 
ample of the militia, and glowed with anxiety to 
take their place in the struggle. They rushed for- 
ward keen as lightning; and, at their approach, 
Stewart brought the majority of his reserve into 
line. The conflict was then renewed with as much 
fury as ever. Sumner at length yielded to the 
superior force and fire of the enemy. As his 
brigade wavered, shrank and finally yielded, the 
liopes of the British grew sanguine. With a wild 
yell of victory they rushed forward to complete 
their supposed triumph, and, in doing so, their 
line became disordered. This afforded an oppor- 
tunity of which Greene promptly availed himself. 
He had anticipated this probability and had 
waited anxiously for it. He was now ready to take 
advantage of it, and gave his order — to Otho Wil- 
liams, in command of the Marylanders — "Let Wil- 
liams advance and sweep the field with his bay- 
onets!" 

And Williams, heading two brigades — those of 
Maryland and Virginia — swept forward with a 
shout. When within forty yards of the British 
the Virginians poured in a destructive fire, under 



BATTLE OF EUTAW. 281 

which their columns reeled and shivered as if 
struck by lightning, and then the whole second 
line, the three brigades, with trailed arms and al- 
most at a trot, darted on to the savage issue of 
naked steel, hand-to-hand with the desperate 
ibayonet. The terrible fire of the Virginians, fol- 
lowed up by the charge of the second line, and 
seconded, at this lucky juncture, by the legion in- 
fantry, which suddenly poured in a most destruc- 
tive fire upon the now exposed flank of the British 
left, threw the whole line into irretrievable dis- 
order. 

The left of the British center at this vital mo- 
ment, pressed upon by their own fugitives, yielded 
under the pressure, and the Marylanders, now de- 
livering their fire, hitherto reserved, completed the 
disaster. Along the whole front the enemy's ranks 
wavered, gave way finally and retired sullenly, 
closely pressed by the shouting Americans. 

The victory was won — so far a victory was 
won, and all that was necessary was to keep and 
confirm the triumph. But the day was not over. 
The battle of Eutaw was a two-act, we might say 
a three-act drama — such were its vicissitudes. 



LAFCADIO HEARN. 

Lafcadio Hearn was born in the Ionian Islands, June 
27, 1850, and died in Japan, September 26, 1904. His 
father was an Irish surgeon in the British Army, and his 
mother was a Greek Vvoman. He was educated in France 
and England. He came to America and almost died of 
starvation, first in New York and then in Cincinnati. He 
worked as a messenger day laborer, and grew steadily 
poorer and more wretched. For a while happiness and 
partial prosperity came with work on the Enquirer and, 
as secretary to the librarian of the Cincinnati Library, 
in the delightful contact with books. He came to New 
Orleans, and during his life there, or, at least, as the re- 
sult of it and its opportunities, he produced the best part 
of his work done in this country. He returned to New 
York, but soon left it for Japan. He obtained a position 
as lecturer in the University of Tokyo, became a Japanese 
citizen, married a Japanese wife, and died in the Buddhist 
faith. 

He was a marvelous word painter, a literary artist, 
most delicately sensitive, appreciative of every aspect of 
nature or human nature, and "one of the greatest stylists 
of the 19th century." 

Some of his works are: Chita; A Memory of Last 
Island; Youma; Gumbo Zhebes; Two Years in the French 
West Indies; Out of the East; Glimpses of Unfamiliar 
Japan; Reveries, and Studies in New Japan. 



LOST KITES. 

Looking out into the clear blue of the night, 
from one of those jutting balconies which consti- 
tute a summer luxury in the Creole city, the eye 



LOST KITES. 283 

sometimes marks the thin black threads which the 
telegraph wires draw sharply against the sky. We 
observed last evening the infinitely extending lines 
of the vast web which the Electric Spider has spun 
about the world, and the innumerable wrecks of 
kites fluttering thereupon, like the bodies of gaudy 
flies — strange lines of tattered objects extending 
far into the horizon and tracking out the course 
of the electric messengers ibeyond the point at 
which the slender threads cease to remain visible. 
How fantastic the forms of these poor 
tattered wrecks, when the uniform tint of night 
rdbs them of their color, and only defines their 
silhouettes against the sky! — some swinging to 
and fro wearily, like thin bodies of malefactors 
mummified by sun heat upon their gibbets — some 
wildly fluttering as in the agony of despair and 
death — some dancing grotesquely upon their 
perches like flying goblins — some like impaled 
birds, with death-stiffened wings, motionlessly 
attached to their wire snare, and glaring with 
painted eyes upon the scene below as in a stupor of 
astonishment at their untimely fate. 

All these represented the destruction of child- 
ish ambitions — each the wreck of some boyish 
pleasure. Many were doubtless wept for, and 
dreamed of afterward regretfully on wet pillows. 
And stretching away into the paler blue of the 
horizon we looked upon the interminable hues of 
irregular dots they made against it and remem- 
bered that each little dot represented some little 
pang. 

Then it was natural that we should meditate a 
little upon the variety of the ways in which these 



284 LAFCADIO HEARN. 

childish losses had been borne. The little owners 
of the poor kites had hearts whose fiber differed 
more than that of the kites themselves. Some 
might weep, but some doubtless laughed with 
childish heroism, and soon forgot their loss ; some 
doubtless thought the world was all askew, and 
that telegraph wires ought never to have been in- 
vented ; some, considering critically the cause and 
effect, resolved as young philosophers to profit by 
their experience, and seek similar pleasures there- 
after where telegraph wires ensnared not; while 
some, perhaps, profited not at all, but only made 
new kites and abandoned them to the roguish 
wind, which again traitorously delivered them up 
to the insatiable enemies of kites and birds. 

Is it not said that the child is the father of the 
man? 

And as we sat there in the silence with the 
stars burning in the purple deeps of the summer 
night above us we dreamed of the kites which chil- 
dren of a larger growth fly in the face of heaven — 
toys of love and faith — toys of ambition and 
folly — ^toys of grotesque resolve and flattering 
ideals — ^toys of vain dreams and vain expectations 
— the kites of human Hope, gaudy-colored or gray, 
richly tinseled or humbly simple — rising and 
soaring and tossing on the fickle winds of the 
world, only to become entangled at last in that 
mighty web of indissoluble and everlasting threads 
wlhich the Weird Sisters spin for all of us. 



SAMUEL HENRY DICKSON. 

Samuel Henry Dickson was born in Charleston, S. C, 
September 20, 1798, and died in Philadelphia, March 31, 
1872. He was a graduate of Yale and of the Medical De- 
partment of the University of Pennsylvania. He was one 
of the founders of the Medical College of Charleston, and 
for a while taught there. He was a professor in the New 
York University and in the Jefferson Medical College, of 
Philadelphia. He was much respected and loved for his 
learning, dignity, courteousness, and kindliness. 

His best work is probably contained in the Practice of 
Medicine; his essays on Life, Sleep, Pain, and Death, and 
his Poems. 



THE SOUTHERN EXILE. 

Farewell to all I have loved so long, 

Farewell to my native shore! 
Let me sing a strain of a sweet old song, 

**I return — I return no more !'' 
It breaks my heart from friends to part 

And mine eyes — mine eyes the tear-drops pour ; 
While mournfully I repeat the cry — 

**I return — I return no more!" 

Though here I breathe in ample space, 

And gather with fuller hand, 
Nought can efface one simple trace 

Of my own dear distant land. 
With many a sob my pulses throb, 

And mine eyes — ^mine eyes the tear-drops 
pour, 



286 SAMUEL HENRY DICKSON. 

While wearily I repeat the cry — 
"I return — I return no more!" 

When others sleep I wake and weep 

To think of joys long past; 
And wish and pray for the happy day 

That shall bring repose at last. 
Sad memories fill my soul with gloom 

And mine eyes — mine eyes the tear-drops pour, 
While desparingly I repeat the cry — 

'*I return — I return no more !" 



THE WHIP-POOR-WILL. 

When the mists of night descending 

Darken o*er the moonless gloom, 
Ghostly forms with shadows blending 

Flit around the silent tomb. 
Quiet now are mirth and folly, 

All around lies hushed and still, 
Save the Bird of Melancholy, 

Ever plaintive Whip-poor-Will. 

Bird of solitude and sadness, 

Breathe again thy mournful strain ; 

E'en though tortured nigh to madness, 
Soft — it soothes my bosom's pain. 

While thy murmur, far resounding. 
Valley, field, and woodland fill, 

Echo from all the scene surrounding 

Answers thy cry — lost Whip-poor-Will. 

(By permission of Miss Belle Dickson.) 




^arHp. 



FRANCOIS-XAVIER MARTIN. 

Francois-Xavier Martin, according to the inscription 
upon the shaft that marks his grave in the St. Louis Ceme- 
tery, was born in Marseilles, France, March 17, 1762, and 
died in New Orleans, December 10, 1846. The first eighteen 
years of his life were spent in France, the next six in the 
island of Martinique, from which place he emigrated to 
North Carolina. During the twenty-three years that he 
made his home in that State he wrote the History of North 
Carolina, and translated and compiled several treatises on 
law. He worked at the printers' trade until he was admit- 
ted to the bar. He served in the Legislature of North 
Carolina, was appointed Judge in the Territory of Missis- 
sippi, Judge in the Territory of Orleans, and, making his 
home in Louisiana, gradually rose to the high position of 
the Supreme Justice of the State. 

He was a man of strong personality and great eccen- 
tricity, and many humorous stories are still told about him 
by the lawyers of New Orleans. In his later years he was 
sadly afflicted with blindness. 

His History of Louisiana, while furnishing somewhat 
dry reading, is a remarkable piece of work, far ahead of 
that of his contemporaries in the manner in which he has, 
by research and reason and judgment, sought to attain 
the true aims of the historian. 



THE CESSIONS OF LOUISIANA. 

FROM 

THE HISTORY OF LOUISIANA. 

By the third article of a treaty concluded at St. 
Ildefonso on the 1st of October of this year (1800) , 
between the Catholic king (King of Spain) and 



288 FRANCOIS-XAVIER MARTIN. 

the first consul of the French republic, the former 
promised and engaged on his part to cede fo the 
French republic the colony and province of Lou- 
isiana. 

On the 21st of March the cession of Louisiana 
to France was effected. Bonaparte took immedi- 
ate measure to possess himself of his acquisition. 
An immense body of troops was destined to this 
service. A form of government was adopted for 
the province. 

Thomas Jefferson succeeded John Adams in 
the presidency of the United States on the 4th of 
March. 

The differences that had prevailed between the 
United States and the French republic were ter- 
minated by a treaty entered into at Paris and 
ratified on the first day of June. 

On the 25th of March, 1802, a definite treaty 
of peace between Spain, France and "Great Britain 
was signed at Amiens. 

A vessel arriving (at New Orleans) from 
Havre-de-Grace on March 24, 1803, brought the 
baggage of Laussat, the colonial prefect, who was 
preceding the captain-general (General Victor), 
with a special mission for the purpose of providing 
whatever might be necessary on the arrival of the 
troops and making arrangements for the establish- 
ment of the government of the (French) republic. 

In the latter part of the. month notice reached 
New Orleans of the arrival at Belize of a French 
national brig, having on board Laussat, the colo- 
nial prefect. He came up in the government 
barge, lande'd at the levee on the 26th, and was im- 
mediately conducted to the government house, 
where Salcedo and Morales, surrounded by the 



THE CESSIONS OF LOUISIANA. 289 

staff of the garrison and army, the officers of the 
militia and the head of the clergy, were assembled 
for his reception. 

In an address, which was presented to him a 
few days afterwards, subscribed by a considerable 
number of the most respectable planters and mer- 
chants, assurance was given him that France had 
done justice to the sentiments of the people of 
Louisiana in giving them credit for the attach- 
ment they had preserved for her. Thirty-four 
years of foreign domination had not extinguished 
or even diminished in their hearts the sacred love 
of their country ; and their joy on returning under 
her banner could only be equalled by the grief 
which they had felt on seeing it lowered in the 
midst of them. They were happy in having lived 
long enough to witness the reunion of the colony 
to France, an event which they had never 
ceased to desire, and which now gratified their 
utmost wishes. 

The Marquis de Casa-Calvo, who had acted as 
military governor after the death of Gayoso, ar- 
rived from Havana on the 10th of April, having 
been joined to Salcedo in a commission for the 
delivery of possession of the province to the com- 
missioners of France. On the 18th of May 
Salcedo and he issued a proclamation announcing 
the intention of their sovereign to surrender the 
province to the French Republic. 

Everything seemed now ready, and the ar- 
rival of Victor, the commissioner of France for re- 
ceiving possession, was hourly expected, when a 
vessel from Bordeaux brought accounts of the sale 
of the province by Bonaparte to the United States. 

By a treaty concluded at Paris on the 30th 



290 FRANCOIS-XAVIER MARTIN. 

of April, 1803, the first consul had ceded, in the 
name of the republic, to the United States, for- 
ever and in full sovereignty, the province of 
Louisiana, with all its rights and appurtenances 
in full, and in the same manner as they had been 
acquired by the republic from the Spanish king. 

Congress, on the last day of October, author- 
ized the President of the United States to take 
possession of the ceded territory ; and in order to 
maintain therein the authority of the United 
States to employ such a part of the navy and army 
of the Union, and of the militia of the neighboring 
States and Territory, as he might deem necessary. 
In the meanwhile all the military, civil and judi- 
cial powers exercised by the existing government 
were to be vested in such person or persons, and 
to be exercised in such a manner as the President 
of the United States should direct, for the main- 
tenance and protection of the inhabitants of Lou- 
isiana, in their liberty, property and the religion 
which they professed. 

The President of the United States appointed 
accordingly Governor Claiborne of the Mississippi 
Territory and General Wilkinson commissioners 
for receiving possession of the ceded territory 
from the commissioner of France; and he gave 
to the former a commission, authorizing him pro- 
visorily to exercise, within the ceded territory, all 
the powers with which the Spanish Governor- 
General and intendant were clothed, except that 
of granting lands. 

In the meanwhile, the first consul had, on the 
6th of June, appointed Laussat commissioner on 
the part of France to receive possession of the 



THE CESSIONS OF LO U I SI AN A, 291 

province from those of Spain, and deliver it to 
those of the United States. 

On Wednesday, the 30th of November, the 
Spanish colors were displayed from a lofty flag- 
staff, in the centre of the public square. At noon 
the Spanish regiment of Louisiana was drawn out, 
with a company of Mexican dragoons on the right 
and the militia of the city on the left. The com- 
missioners of Spain proceeded to the city hall, 
where the commissioner of France came soon 
after. He produced to them an order from the 
King of Spain for the delivery of the province, and 
the powers of the first consul to receive it ; where- 
upon Salcedo immediately handed him the keys 
of New Orleans, and the Marquis de Caso-Calvo 
declared that such of his majesty's subjects in 
Louisiana as made it their election to live under 
the authority of the French republic were ab- 
solved from their oath of fidelity and allegiance 
to the crown of Spain. A record was made of 
these proceedings, and the three commissioners 
walked to the main balcony, when the Spanish flag 
was saluted by a discharge of artillery on its de- 
scent and that of the French republic greeted in 
the same manner on its ascent. 

Thus ended the government of Spain in Lou- 
isiana, after the lapse of thirty-four years and a 
few months. 

On Monday, the 20th of December, 1803, the 
tri-colored flag was displayed at the top of the 
staff in the middle of the public square at sunrise. 
At eleven, the militia paraded near it, and pre- 
cisely at noon the commissioners of the United 
States, at the head of their forces, entered the city. 



292 FRANCOIS-XAVIER MARTIN. 

The American troops occupied the side of the 
square opposite to that on which the militia stood. 
The colonial prefect, attended by his secretary and 
a number of his countrymen, left his house under 
a discharge of cannon and proceeded to the city 
hall, where the municipality and a large con- 
course of the most respectable inhabitants at- 
tended. 

The commissioners of the United States now 
came, and the prefect gave them formal posses- 
sion of the province by the delivery of the keys of 
the city. He then declared such of the inhabi- 
tants as chose to pass under the government of the 
United States absolved and released from their 
allegiance to the French republic. 

Claiborne now rose and offered to the people 
of Louisiana his congratulations on the event 
which placed them beyond the reach of chance. 
He assured them the United States received them 
as brothers, and would hasten to extend to them a 
participation in the invaluable rights forming the 
basis of their unexampled prosperity, and in the 
meanwhile the people would be protected in the 
enjoyment of their liberty, property and religion, 
their commerce favored and their agriculture en- 
couraged. He recommended to them to promote 
political information in the province and guide 
the rising generation in the paths of republican 
economy and virtue. 

The tri-colored made room for the striped ban- 
ner, under repeated peals of artillery and mus- 
ketry. 



MIRABEAU BUONAPARTE LAMAR. 

MiRABEAu Buonaparte Lamar, President of the Re- 
public of Texas from 1838 to 1841, was born in Louisville, 
Ga., August 16, 1798, and died at Richmond, Tex., Decem- 
ber 19, 1859. He emigrated to Texas in time to strike a 
blow for her freedom. At the battle of San Jacinto he 
commanded a cavalry charge that broke the Mexican line 
and did much to carry the day for the Texans. 

He is the author of a book of poems entitled Verse 
Memorials. 



THE DAUGHTER OF MENDOZA. 

LEND to me, sweet nightingale, 

Your music by the fountain, 
And lend to me your cadences, 

rivers of the mountain ! 
That I may sing my gay brunette, 
A diamond spark in coral set. 
Gem for a prince's coronet — 
The daughter of Mendoza. 

How brilliant is the evening star, 
The evening light how tender; 
The light of both is in her eyes. 

Their softness and their splendor. 
But for the lash that shades their light 
They were too dazzling for the sight, 
And when she shuts them all is night — 
The daughter of Mendoza. 



294 MIR ABE A U B UON APART E LAMAR. 

O ever bright and beauteous one, 

Bewildering and beguiling, 
The lute is in thy silvery tone, 

The rainbow in thy smiling; 
And thine is, too, o'er hill and dell, 
The bounding of the young gazelle, 
The arrow's flight and ocean's swell — 
Sweet daughter of Mendoza ! 

What though, perchance, we no more meet — 

What though too soon we sever? 
Thy form will float like emerald light 

Before my vision ever. 
For who can see and then forget 
The glories of my gay brunette — 
Thou art too bright a star to set. 
Sweet daughter of Mendoza ! 



HENRY WOODFIN GRADY. 

Grady was born in Athens, Ga., May 17, 1851, and died 
in Atlanta about thirty-eight years later. He was a gradu- 
ate of Georgia University and a student at the University 
of Virginia. The business of life began for him while he 
was still a boy. He contributed to the New York Herald, 
was editor of the Rome Courier, and managing editor of 
the Atlanta Constitution. He was so loved by his people 
that they would gladly have elected him to any office, but 
he preferred to continue in his patriotic work of building 
up the industries of the South that had been left prostrate 
after the war, and of closing the breach and removing the 
bitterness of feeling between the two sections of our coun- 
try. "He was," says Henry Watterson, "the hope and ex- 
pectancy of the young South, the one publicist of the New 
South, who, inheriting the spirit of the old, yet had re- 
alized the present, and looked into the future with the eyes 
of a statesman and the heart of a patriot." 

Since his death his speeches have been collected and 
published. 



THE NEW SOUTH. 

An Address Delivered Before the New Eng- 
land Society, December 21, 1886. 

My friends. Dr. Talmage has drawn for you, 
with a master's hand, the picture of your return- 
ing armies. He has told you how, in the pomp 
and circumstance of war, they came back to you, 
marching with proud and victorious tread, read- 
ing their glory in a nation's eyes ! Will you 

(20) 



296 HENRY WOODFIN GRADY. 

bear with me while I tell you of another army 

that sought its home at the close of the late war? 

an army that marched home in defeat and not in 
victory, in pathos and not in splendor; but in 
glory that equaled yours, and to hearts as loving 
as ever welcomed heroes home! Let me picture 
to you the footsore Confederate soldier, as, but- 
toning up in his faded gray jacket the parole 
which was to bear testimony to his children of his 
fidelity and faith, he turned his face southward 
from Appomattox in April, 1865. Think of him 
as, ragged, half -starved, heavy-hearted ; enfeebled 
by want and wounds, having fought to exhaustion, 
he surrenders his gun, wrings the hands of his 
comrades in silence, and, lifting his tear-stained 
and pallid face for the last time to the graves that 
dot old Virginia hills, pulls his gray cap over his 
brow and begins the slow and painful journey. 

What does he find — let me ask you who went 
to your homes eager to find, in the welcome you 
had justly earned, full payment for four years' 
sacrifice — what does he find when, having followed 
the battle-stained cross against overwhelming 
odds, dreading death not half so much as sur- 
render, he reaches the home he left so prosperous 
and beautiful? He finds his house in ruins, his 
farm devastated, his slaves free, his stock killed, 
his barns empty, his trade destroyed, his money 
worthless, his social system, feudal in its magnifi- 
cence, swept away, his people without law or legal 
status, his comrades slain, and the burdens of 
others heavy on his shoulders. Crushed by de- 
feat, his very traditions are gone ; and, besides all 
this, confronted with the gravest problem that 



THE NEW SOUTH, 297 

ever met human intelligence — ^the establishment 
of a status for the vast body of his liberated slaves. 

What does he do, this hero in gray with a 
heart of gold? Does he sit down in sullenness 
and despair? Not for a day. Surely God, who 
had stripped him of his prosperity, inspired him 
in his adversity. As ruin was never before so 
overwhelming, never was restoration swifter. The 
soldiers stepped from the trenches into the fur- 
rows; horses that had charged Federal guns 
marched before the plow, and fields that ran red 
with human blood in April were green with the 
harvest in June; women reared in luxury cut up 
their dresses and made breeches for their hus- 
bands, and, with a patience and heroism that fit 
women always as a garment, gave their hands to 
work. There was little bitterness in all this. 
Cheerfulness and frankness prevailed. 

I want to say to General Sherman, who is con- 
sidered an able man in our parts, though some 
people think he is a kind of careless man about 
fire, that from the ashes he left us in 1864 we 
have raised a brave and beautiful city ; that some- 
how or other we have caught the sunshine in the 
bricks and mortar of our homes, and have builded 
therein not one ignoble prejudice or memory. 

But what is the sum of our work? We have 
planted the schoolhouse on the hilltop and made it 
free to white and black. We have sown towns 
and cities in the place of theories, and put busi- 
ness above politics. We have challenged your 
spinners in Massachusetts and your ironmakers 
in Pennsylvania. We have learned that the 
$400,000,000 annually received from our cotton 



298 HENRY WOODFIN GRADY. 

crop will make us rich when the supplies that 
make it are home-raised. "We have reduced the 
commercial rate of interest from 24 to 6 per cent, 
and are floating 4 per cent bonds. We have 
learned that one Northern immigrant is worth 
fifty foreigners, and have smoothed the path to 
Southward, wiped out the place where Mason and 
Dixon's line used to be, and hung out the latch- 
string to you and yours. 

We have established thrift in city and country. 
We have fallen in love with work. We have re- 
stored comfort to homes from which culture and 
elegance never departed. We have let economy 
take root and spread among us as rank as the 
crab-grass which sprang from Sherman's cavalry 
camps. 

It is a rare privilege, sir, to have had part, 
however humble, in this work. Never was nobler 
duty confided to human hands than the uplifting 
and upbuilding of the prostrate and bleeding 
South — misguided, perhaps, but beautiful in her 
suffering, and honest, brave, and generous al- 
ways. In the record of her social, industrial, and 
political illustration we await with confidence the 
verdict of the world. 

But what of the negro? Have we solved the 
problem he presents or progressed in honor and 
equity towards solution? Let the record speak 
to the point. 

The relations of the Southern people with the 
negro are close and cordial. We remember with 
what fidelity for four years he guarded our de- 
fenseless women and children, whose husbands 
and fathers were fighting against his freedom. 



THE NEW SOUTH. 299 

To his eternal credit be it said that whenever he 
struck a blow for his own liberty he fought in 
open battle, and when at lapt he raised his black 
and humble hands that the shackles might be 
struck off, those hands were innocent of wrong 
against his helpless charges, and worthy to be 
taken in loving grasp by every man who honors 
loyalty and devotion. Ruffians have maltreated 
him, rescals have misled him, philanthropists es- 
tablished a bank for him, but the South, with the 
North, protests against injustice to this simple 
and sincere people. 

But have we kept faith with you ? In the full- 
est sense, yes. When Lee surrendered and John- 
ston quit, the South became, and has since been, 
loyal to this Union. We fought hard enough to 
know that we were whipped, and in perfect frank- 
ness accept as final the arbitrament of the sword 
to which we had appealed. The South found her 
jewel in the toad's head of defeat. The shackles 
that had held her in narrow limitations fell for- 
ever when the shackles of the negro slave were 
broken. Under the old regime the negroes were 
slaves to the South ; the South was a slave to the 
system. The old plantation, with its simple po- 
lice regulations and feudal habit, was the only 
type possible under slavery. Thus was gathered 
in the hands of a splendid and chivalric oligarchy 
the substance that should have been diffused 
among the people, as the rich blood, under certain 
artificial conditions, is gathered at the heart, fill- 
ing that with affluent rapture, but leaving the 
body chill and colorless. 

The old South rested everything on slavery 



300 HENRY WOODFIN GRADY. 

and agriculture, unconscious that these could 
neither give nor maintain healthy growth. The 
new South presents a perfect democracy, the oli- 
garchs leading in the popular movement ; a social 
system compact and closely knitted, less splendid 
on the surface, but stronger at the core; a hun- 
dred farms for every plantation, fifty homes for 
every palace ; and a diversified industry that meets 
the complex needs of this complex age. 

The new South is enamored of her new work. 
Her soul is stirred with the breath of a new life. 
The light of a grander day is falling fair on her 
face. She is thriling with the consciousness of 
growing power and prosperity. As she stands 
upright, full-statured and equal among the peo- 
ple of the earth, breathing the keen air and look- 
ing out upon the expanded horizon, she under- 
stands that her emancipation came because, 
through the inscrutable wisdom of God, her hon- 
est purpose was crossed and her brave armies 
were beaten. 

This is said in no spirit of time-serving or 
apology. The South has nothing for which to 
apologize. She believes that the late struggle 
between the States was war and not rebellion, rev- 
olution and not conspiracy, and that her convic- 
tions were as honest as yours. I should be un- 
just to the dauntless spirit of the South and to my 
own convictions if I did not make this plain in this 
presence. The South has nothing to take back. 

In my native town of Athens is a monument 
that crowns its central hill — a plain, white shaft. 
Deep cut into its shining side is a name dear to 
me above the names of men — that of a brave and 



THE NEW SO UTH. 301 

simple man who died in brave and simple faith. 
Not for all the glories of New England, from 
Plymouth Rock all the way, would I exchange the 
heritage he left me in his soldier's death. To the 
foot of that shaft I shall send my children's chil- 
dren to reverence him who ennobled their name 
with his heroic blood. But, sir, speaking from 
the shadow of that memory which I honor as I do 
nothing else on earth, I say that the cause in which 
he suffered and for which he gave his life was ad- 
judged by a higher and fuller wisdom than his or 
mine, and I am glad that the omniscient God held 
the balance of battle in His Almighty hand, and 
that human slavery was swept forever from Amer- 
ican soil — that the American Union was saved 
from the wreck of war. 

This message, Mr. President, comes to you 
from consecrated ground. Every foot of soil 
about the city in which I live is sacred as a battle- 
ground of the Republic. Every hill that invests 
it is hallowed to you by the blood of your brothers 
who died for your victory, and doubly hallowed to 
us by the blood of those who died hopeless but un- 
daunted in defeat — sacred soil to all of us, rich 
with memories that make us purer and stronger 
and better, silent but stanch witnesses in its red 
desolation of the matchless valor of American 
hearts and the deathless glory of American arms, 
speaking an eloquent witness in its white peace 
and prosperity to the indissoluble union of Amer- 
ican States and the imperishable brotherhood of 
the American people. 

Now, what answer has New England to this 
message? Will she permit the prejudice of war 



302 HENRY WOODFIN GRADY. 

to remain in the hearts of the conquerors when 
it has died in the hearts of the conquered? Will 
she transmit this prejudice to the next generation, 
that in their hearts, which never felt the generous 
ardor of conflict, it may perpetuate itself? Will 
she withhold, save in strained courtesy, the hand 
which straight from his soldier's heart Grant of- 
fered to Lee at Appomattox? Will she make the 
vision of a restored and happy people, which gath- 
ered above the couch of your dying captain, fill- 
ing his heart with grace, touching his lips with 
praise, and glorifying his path to the grave — will 
she make this vision, on which the last sigh of his 
expiring soul breathed a benediction, a cheat and 
delusion ? 

If she does, the South, never abject in asking 
for comradeship, must accept with dignity its re- 
fusal; but if she does not refuse to accept in 
frankness and sincerity this message of good will 
and friendship, then will the prophecy of Webster, 
delivered in this very society forty years ago amid 
tremendous applause, be verified in its fullest 
sense. When he said: ''Standing hand to hand and 
clasping hands, we should remain united as we 
have been for sixty years, citizens of the same 
country, members of the same government, united, 
all united now and united forever." 

(From Orations and Speeches of H. W. Grady, by permis- 
sion of Edwin Du Bois Shurter.) 



SONNETS. 303 



SONNETS. 

FROM 

DISTAFF AND SPINDLE. 

BY 
MARY ASHLEY TOWNSEND. 

I. 

"Thy spindle and thy distaff ready make, 

And God will send thee flax." The promise 

read 
So fair, so beautiful to me, I said : 

"Ah, straightway forth my spindle will I take ; 

My distaff shall its idleness forsake; 

My wheel shall sing responsive to my tread, 
And I will spin so fine, so strong a thread 

Fate shall not cut it, nor Time's forces break!" 

Long, long I waited sitting in the light; 

Looked east, looked west, where day with dark- 
ness blends, 
Nor did I once my patient watch relax 

Till cried a voice : "Thou hast not read aright 
The written promise, for God only sends 
To him who, toiling bravely, seeks the flax!" 

IL 

How grows a poem in a poet's heart — 

From sudden light flashed on some hidden 

thought, 
From knowledge never learned and never 
taught, 
Dear memories snatched from pleasures that 
depart? 



304 MARY ASHLEY TOWNSEND. 

From tears that sympathies unlooked for start, 
From dreams within the net of slumber caught, 
From joys within sweet waking moments 
wrought, 

From depths ungauged by science or by art ? 

Do poems grow from sorrows that bereave, 
From steps that stopped before they touched 

the goal. 
From days of luxury, or from nights of toil ? 

Ask how the maple learns its tints to weave, 
The wintry blast to sing its song of dole, 
The flowers to find their stature in the soil! 

III. 

To every life there comes a time supreme ; 
One day, one night, one morning, or one noon, 
One freighted hour, one moment opportune. 

One rift through which sublime fulfillments 
gleam ; 

One time when fate goes tiding with the stream. 
One Once in balance 'twixt Too Late, Too Soon, 
And ready for the passing instant's boon 
That shall in favor tip the wavering beam. 

Ah ! happy he who, knowing how to wait. 
Knows also how to watch and how to stand 
On life's broad deck alert, and at the prow, 

To seize the happy moment big with fate 
From opportunity's extended hand 
When the great clock of Destiny strikes Now I 

(By permission of Lewis H. Stanton.) 



FRANCIS LISTER HAWKS. 

This famous puplit orator was born in Newbern, N. C, 
June 10, 1798, and died in New York city, September 26, 
1866. He was a graduate of his State University, became 
a lawyer, and a little later in life a minister of the Epis- 
copal church, occupying churches in New Haven, New 
York, New Orleans, and Baltimore. He three times re- 
fused the appointment as bishop. 

Some of his many works are: History of North Caro- 
lina, Romance of Biography, and Perry's Expedition to 
Japan. 



COLONIAL PIRACY. 

FROM 

HISTORY OF NORTH CAROLINA. 

Nor was that day, any more than later times, 
free from the depredations of piracy. Indeed, the 
state of affairs in the early history of the col- 
onies seems rather to have favored the opera- 
tions of the sea-robber. The sparse population 
of the country afforded but few and often no 
spectators of the secluded coves and hiding places 
in the West Indies and on the extended coast of 
the continent; while the laxity of supervision 
and indifference of the mother country in the pro- 
tection of her colonies left the freebooters all the 
opportunity they could desire for successfully 
pursuing their lawless calling. 

A privateer, or rather pirate, called the Royal 



306 FRANCIS LISTER HAWKS. 

Jamaica, manned by forty seamen, arrived off 
the coast of South Carolina some time in the year 
1691-2. This vessel had been engaged in rob- 
bery with great success, and brought into the 
country a large amount of Spanish gold and sil- 
ver. By their money and freedom of intercourse 
with the inhabitants the freebooters made them- 
selves popular; and though the proprietors di- 
rected Ludwell, their Governor, rigidly to enforce 
the English laws against piracy, yet such was 
the feeling of the people that a trial even was 
difficult, and a conviction almost impossible. 
Most of the pirates escaped punishment, pur- 
chased lands from the colonists, and became per- 
manent inhabitants of the country. 

Such a paradise for villains was sure to in- 
vite them. In 1699 a motley gang of English, 
French, Portuguese and Indians, to the number 
of forty-five, manned a ship at Havana and com- 
menced their piratical career. They came upon 
the coast of South Carolina and began their mur- 
ders and robberies. 

During the administration of Governor 
Craven in South Carolina, which commenced in 
1710, the trade of that colony had very much in- 
creased, and was carried on chiefly in British 
ships. The lords proprietors had leased their 
property in the Bahama Islands to a company of 
merchants, who found it unprofitable, and conse- 
quently gave it but little attention. This com- 
bination of circumstances was too favorable to 
be overlooked by the pirates. 

European wars prevented the English govern- 
ment from suppressing piracy on our coast; the 



COLONIAL PIRACY. 307 

lords proprietors were unwilling or unable to en- 
counter the expense; the colonists could but par- 
tially put down the evil; the island of Providence, 
in the Bahamas, was looked after by neither own- 
ers nor lessees, and formed a most convenient 
place for headquarters. These circumstances 
were too propitious to be left unimproved. Mak- 
ing the Bahamas their chief rendezvous, a body 
of desperate villains were accustomed to push out 
on the ocean, or cruise in the Gulf of Mexico, and 
commit their depredations on commerce. For five 
years they held their robber reign, and plundered 
and took the vessels of every nation without dis- 
tinction, enemies of the human race. They had 
their hiding places all along the coast of both 
Carolinas. On our coast they took their prizes 
into the mouth of Cape Fear River, which was a 
rendezvous second only in importance to Provi- 
dence, and sometimes into Ocraeoke and our har- 
bor of Beaufort. Their success naturally allured 
companions, and they became an organized body 
of buccaneers, too strong to be handled by any 
inconsiderable power. They were ultimately dis- 
lodged from Providence by Capt. Woodes Rogers, 
commanding a squadron of the British navy. 

But after the suppression of those on the 
island of Providence the pirates of Carolina still 
remained. The King, on the application of the 
merchants and shipmasters, had issued a procla- 
mation offering pardon to all who within twelve 
months would surrender themselves. When 
Rogers appeared at Providence with a force for 
their suppression, all the pirates, with the excep- 
tion of some ninety, headed by one Vane, took ad- 



308 FRANCIS LISTER HA WKS. 

vantage of the proclamation. Of these, thirty 
made the Cape Fear their headquarters (the 
plantation in that region, made by Yeaman*s col- 
ony long before, having been for some years 
abandoned), and committed large depredations, 
especially on the commerce of Charleston. There 
was a private sloop of ten guns commanded by 
Steed Bonnet, and another of six commanded by 
Richard Worley. The colonists, despairing of, 
or at least not receiving, any aid to put them 
down, resolved to take the matter into their own 
hands. Accordingly, Governor Robert Johnson 
of South Carolina fitted out two sloops, and gave 
the command of them to Col. William Rhett, with 
orders to cruise off the coast for the protection of 
trade. Rhett had scarcely crossed the bar when 
he spied Bonnet's vessel, which he chased into the 
mouth of Cape Fear and captured, and returned to 
Charleston with his prize, bringing as prisoners 
the commander and about thirty of his crew. 
Soon after the Governor himself embarked in 
pursuit of Worley, and after a desperate engage- 
ment off the bar of Charleston, in which all the 
pirates were killed except Worley and one of his 
crew (who would not surrender until they were 
dangerously wounded) , came into the harbor with 
his prize and these two desperadoes as prisoners. 
For fear they might die before they could be 
hanged, they were instantly tried and executed. 
Bonnet and his crew were also tried, and, with 
the exception of one man, paid the penalty of their 
crimes on the gallows. 



THOMAS WHARTON COLLENS. 

Thomas Wharton Collens was born in New Orleans, 
June 23, 1812, and died in that city, November 3, 1879. 
He studied law, became District Attorney, and later Dis- 
trict Judge. He was editor of the True Americmi, and 
author of Humanics; Eden of Labor, and Martyr Patriots; 
or, Louisiana in 1769. Judge Collens was a profound 
thinker, who possessed the happy faculty of expressing 
such thoughts clearly and simply. 



THE MARTYR PATRIOTS; OR, LOUISIANA 

IN 1769. 

ACT I. 

Scene 1. — A public place {trees on the sides, a 
church in the background.) 

[Lafreniere enters, holding an open letter.l 

Laf. {refers to his letter,) 
'Tis well — 'tis well — these things will serve the 

cause 
Of Freedom ; and, though our mother spurns us 
From her bosom, we gain our Liberty 
By that unnatural deed. My country, 
My noble country, yes, thou shalt be free! 
Thou ne'er canst brook the shame of slavery; 
Thou wilt not tamely thus be bartered off. 
What! sold like cattle? — treated with disdain? 
No! Louisiana's sons can never bear 



310 THOMAS WHARTON COLLENS. 

Such foul disgrace. And when I'll tell them all, 
Of every insult, and the shame which thus 
This reckless King would heap upon their heads, 
'Twill put a burning fagot to their pride ; 
'Twill blow their indignation into flame; 
And like the fire on our grass-grown plains. 
By ravaging winds devouring driven, 
'Twill spread, in blazing waves, e'en to the edge 
And utmost limit of the land; and then. 
Proud Kings, beware ! lest e'en within the bounds 
Of Europe's slave-trod vales the blaze should 

catch. 
Sweep despots and their thrones away, and like 
Unprofitable weeds consume them all. 



[Enter Denoyant, Milhet, Marquis and Car- 
RERE, followed shortly by citizens.] 

Denoy. 'Tis my opinion that our deputation 
Will meet with full success. Louis can never 
Thus abandon his faithful subjects. 

Car. Well, I confess I have strong doubts. 

Denoy. Never ! 

Were I but sure that such a day would come, 
I'd quit by native land, home, and possessions — 
All — and hie me to some distant shore. 
Where I'd not see nor even hear it told. 

MiLH. For me, far rather would I drain this 
heart 
Of all the blood that rushes to it now 
Than see my country for one moment suffer 
Such foul disgrace. 

Marq. And I re-echo that. 



THE MARTYR PATRIOTS. 311 

[Enter Lafreniere and Villere.] 

Laf. Fellow-citizens, most painful tidings 
Do I bring you. All, all our hopes are crushed. 
A letter from our friend Lesassier 
Informs me he could not even reach 
The royal presence — that the ministers 
Kef use to listen to our just demands. 
And that we, at our gates, may soon expect 
A Spanish army. 

(Voices,) Shame! What degradation! 

Scene 1. A prison. Lafreniere fettered, and 
chaiined to a ring in the wall. 
Laf. Liberty, thou art not invincible] 
Slaves by plunder baited have o'erthrown thee, 
And thus it seems that hearts inclined to crime 
Do feel for crime as great enthusiasm 
As souls which take their fire from the skies 
Do in the acting of a virtuous deed. 
my country ! and art thou then, like me, 
Chained, fettered, and beneath a tyrant's foot? 
Ah! was green America sought in vain 
By Pilgrim Fathers, flying 'cross the main 
To seek a refuge from oppression's rod? 
Were its wide forests, where untutored men 
Live 'neath the shade of the tall magnolia — 
Were its broad rivers, 'gainst whose current 

nought 
But the Indian's light canoe can ply — 
Was its free soil, from whence civilization's foot 
Not yet treads down and wears the verdure off — 
Were these unto degrading slavery doomed? 
Oh, no ; it cannot be ! And still I hope. 

(21) 



312 THOMAS WHARTON COLLENS. 

Last night, when dragged across the horrid field, 

Where hundreds of my countrymen laid dead, 

Pierced by mercenary swords and balls, 

I was thrown here, within this dungeon dark^ — 

Long did I weep Louisiana's fall, 

Till sorrow's fount was drained all dry: 

Sleep came at last, and closed my heavy eyes 

To ope imagination's lids on worlds 

Unknown, and in prophetic dreams to wake 

'Midst future days. I saw, though Death me- 

thought 
Did press me down with his unbending arm, 
My country in a veil of darkness wrapped, 
Her wrists and ankles worn by clinching chains. 
Her back all marked with deep and bleeding 

stripes. 
And moaning 'midst her sufferings. But soon 
The darkness vanished, and a brilliant light 
Dispersed the clouds which hung around in 

gloom ; 
And forth appeared, in shining radiance, 
A youth whose air spoke Freedom, and whose 

frame 
Was built with strength and grace; in his right 

hand 

A palm and sword he held, and in his left 

A scroll on which eternal truths were written, 

And a floating banner, where, in beauty 

Blended, were the white, and blue, and red, 

In fulgent stars and flowing stripes disposed. 

He broke her bonds, and with manly voice 

Exclaimed, "Go, join thy sisters; thou art free/' 
* * * ^ Hf t 

(By permission of Mrs. William Sevey.) 




Cljoiwasi Jcffer90»» 



THOMAS JEFFERSON. 

The honors that were conferred upon Jefferson were 
but a fitting tribute to a man whose mind was capable of 
such acute and profound thought, whose thought was ex- 
pressed with such accuracy, preciseness, and brevity, and 
whose soul was filled with the deepest and truest love of 
liberty. He was, in turn. Judge, Representative, Congress- 
man, Governor, Minister to France, Secretary of State, Vice 
President, President, founder of the University of Vir- 
ginia, founder of the Democratic Party, and author of the 
Declaration of Independence. 

He was born in Albermarle County, Virginia, April 
13, 1743, and died July 4, 1826, at his country home of 
Monticello, not far from the place of his birth. 

Just as Patrick Henry's speeches did not possess the 
weight of learning and did not proceed with the logical 
precision of those of his later rivals for fame, so the writ- 
ings of Jefferson did not display the graces and refine- 
ments of composition to be found in our best literature; 
but, just as Henry's speeches swept his hearers before 
him, compelling obedience to the speaker's will, just so 
have the writings of Jefferson been the most perfect ex- 
pression of the thoughts, fears, and ambitions of the people 
of his time, and for the interpretation of political creeds 
and the statement of the true meaning and aims of democ- 
racy and liberty have they been, to the present day, the 
political scriptures of our people. 

Jefferson's authorship covers about nine large octavo 
volumes, including his Autobiography; Essays; Letters; 
Reports; Messages, and Addresses. 



314 THOMAS JEFFERSON. 



SCENERY AT HARPER^S FERRY AND AT 

THE NATURAL BRIDGE. 

FROM 

NOTES ON VIRGINIA. 

The passage of the Potomac through the 
Blue Ridge is perhaps one of the most stupendous 
scenes in nature. You stand on a very hig^ 
point of land. On your right comes up the 
Shenandoah, having ranged along the foot of 
the mountain a hundred miles to seek a vent. On 
your left approaches the Potomac, in quest of a 
passage also. In the moment of their junction 
they rush together against the mountain, rend it 
asunder, and pass off to the sea. The first glance 
of this scene hurries our senses into the opinion 
that this earth has been created in time; that 
the mountains were formed first; that the rivers 
began to flow afterwards ; that in this place par- 
ticularly they have been dammed up by the Blue 
ridge of mountains, and have formed an ocean 
which filled the whole valley; that, continuing to 
rise, they have at length broken over at this spot, 
and have torn the mountain down from its sum- 
mit to its base. The piles of rock on each hand 
corroborate the impression. But the distant 
finishing which nature has given to the picture 
is of a very different character. It is a true con- 
trast to the foreground. It is as placid and de- 
lightful as that is wild and tremendous. For, the 
mountain being cloven asunder, she presents to 
your eye, through the cleft, a small patch of 



SCENERY AT HARPER'S FERRY. 315 

smooth blue horizon, at an infinite distance in the 
plain country, inviting you, as it were, from the 
riot and tumult roaring around, to pass through 
the breach and participate of the calm below. 

:{: H: ^ ^ H: H: 

The Natural Bridge, the most sublime of na- 
ture's works, is on the ascent of a hill which 
seems to have been cloven through its length by 
some great convulsion. The fissure, just at the 
bridge, is, by some admeasurements, 270 feet 
deep, by others only 205. It is about 45 feet 
wide at the bottom, and 90 feet at the top ; this, 
of course, determines the length of the bridge 
and its height from the water. Its breadth in 
the middle is about 60 feet, but more at the ends, 
and the thickness of the mass, at the summit of 
the arch, about 40 feet. A part of this thickness 
is constituted by a coat of earth, which gives 
growth to many large trees. The residue, with 
the hill on both sides, is one solid rock of lime- 
stone. 

The arch approaches the semi-elliptical form; 
but the larger axis of the ellipsis, which would 
be the chord of the arch, is many times longer than 
the transverse. Though the sides of this bridge 
are provided in some parts with a parapet of 
fixed rocks, yet few men have the resolution to 
walk to them and look over into the abyss. You 
involuntarily fall on your hands and feet, creep 
to the parapet, and peep over it. Looking down 
from this height about a minute gave me a vio- 
lent head-ache. 

If the view from the top be painful and in- 



316 THOMAS JEFFERSON. 

tolerable, that from below is delightful in an 
equal extreme. It is impossible for the emotions 
arising from the sublime to be felt beyond what 
they are here ; so beautiful an arch, so elevated, so 
light, and springing as it were up to heaven — ^the 
rapture of the spectator is really indescribable! 
The fissure, continuing narrow, deep and straight 
for a considerable distance above and below the 
bridge, opens a short but very pleasing view of 
the North mountain on one side, and Blue Ridge 
on the other, at the distance each of them about 
five miles. This bridge is in the county of Rock- 
bridge, to which it has given name, and affords 
a public and commodious passage over a valley 
which cannot be crossed elsewhere for a consid- 
erable distance. The stream passing under it is 
called Cedar-creek. 



SWAMP FOX, 317 



THE SWAMP FOX. 

FROM 

THE PARTISAN. 

BY 

WILLIAM GILMORE SIMMS. 

We follow where the Swamp Fox guides, 

His friends and merry men are we ; 
And when the troop of Tarlton rides, 

We burrow in the cypress tree. 
The turfy hammock is our bed, 

Our home is in the red deer's den, 
Our roof, the tree-top overhead. 

For we are wild and hunted men. 

We fly by day, and shun its light. 

But, prompt to strike the sudden blow. 
We mount and start with early night. 

And through the forest track our foe. 
And soon he hears our chargers leap. 

The flashing sabre blinds his eyes, 
And ere he drives away his sleep, 

And rushes from his camp, he dies. 

Free bridle-bit, good gallant steed. 

That will not ask a kind caress. 
To swim the Santee at our need. 

When on his heels the f oemen press — 
The true heart and the ready hand, 

The spirit stubborn to be free. 
The twisted bore, the smiting brand — 

And we are Marion's men, you see. 



318 WILLIAM GILMORE SIMMS. 

Now light the fire, and cook the meal, 

The last perhaps that we shall taste ; 
I hear the Swamp Fox round us steal, 

And that's a sign we move in haste. 
He whistles to the scouts, and hark ! 

You hear his order calm and low — 
Come, wave your torch across the dark, 

And let us see the boys that go. 

We may not see their forms again, 

God help 'em should they find the strife ! 
For they are strong and fearless men, 

And make no coward terms for life ; 
They'll fight as long as Marion bids. 

And when he speaks the word to shy, 
Then — not till then — they turn their steeds, 

Through thickening shade and swamp to fly. 

Now stir the fire, and lie at ease. 

The scouts are gone, and on the brush 
I see the Colonel bend his knees, 

To take his slumbers, too — but, hush! 
He's praying, comrades ; 'tis not strange : 

The man that's fighting day by day, 
May well, when night comes, take a change, 

And down upon his knees to pray. 

Break up that hoe-cake, boys, and hand 

The sly and silent jug that's there; 
I love not it should idly stand. 

When Marion's men have need of cheer. 
'Tis seldom that our luck affords 

A stuff like this we just have quaffed, 
And dry potatoes on our boards 

May always call for such a draught. 



SWAMP FOX. 319 

Now pile the brush and roll the log; 

Hard pillow, but a soldier's head 
That's half the time in brake and bog 

Must never think of softer bed. 
The owl is hooting to the night, 

The cooter crawling o'er the bank, 
And in that pond the flashing light 

Tells where the alligator sank. 

What ! 'tis the signal ! start so soon ! 

And through the Santee swamp so deep, 
Without the aid of friendly moon. 

And we, Heaven help us ! half asleep ! 
But courage, comrades ! Marion leads, 

The Swamp Fox takes us out to-night ; 
So clear your swords, and spur your steeds, 

There's goodly chance, I think, of fight. 

We follow where the Swamp Fox guides, 

We leave the swamp and cypress tree ; 
Our spurs are in our coursers' sides. 

And ready for the strife are we. 
The Tory camp is now in sight. 

And there he cowers in his den ; 
He hears our shouts, he dreads the fight. 

He fears, and flies from Marion's men. 



SAM HOUSTON. 

Few heroes of fiction have had a more eventful life 
than that of Sam Houston. He was born in Rockbridge 
County, Virginia, in 1793, moved in his childhood to Ten- 
nessee, was adopted by an Indian chief, was all but mor- 
tally wounded at the battle of Horse Shoe Bend, in the 
Creek War; was sent to Congress, and became Governor 
of Tennessee. He lived for three years with the Indians in 
Arkansas, then in 1832 went to Texas. In the Texan war 
for independence he was made Commander of the Texas 
forces, completed her triumph at the battle of San Jacinto, 
was made the first President of the new Republic, was re- 
peatedly her Governor, and served for fourteen years in 
the United States Senate. He was not an advocate of se- 
cession, and gave no aid to the Confederate cause. He 
died in 1863. 

He has written State Papers; Speeches; Letters, and 
Indian Talks. 



THE BATTLE OF SAN JACINTO. 

A Report to David G. Burnet, Provisional 
President of Texas, 1836. 

At daylight we resumed the line of inarch, and 
in a short distance our scouts encountered those of 
the enemy, and we received information that Gen- 
eral Santa Anna was at New Washington, and 
would that day take up the line of march for Ana- 
huac, crossing at Lynch's Ferry. The Texan 
army halted within half a mile of the ferry, in 



THE BATTLE OF SAN JACINTO. 321 

some timber, and were engaged in slaughtering 
beeves, when the army of Santa Anna was dis- 
covered to be approaching in battle array, having 
been encamped at Clopper's Point, eight miles 
below. Disposition was immediately made of our 
forces, and preparation for his reception. He 
took a position with his infantry, and, artillery in 
the centre, occupying an island of timber, his 
cavalry covering the left flank. The artillery, con- 
sisting of one double fortified medium brass 
twelve-pounder, then opened on our encampment. 
The infantry, in column, advanced with the de- 
sign of charging our lines, but were repulsed by 
a discharge of grape and canister from our artil- 
lery, consisting of two six-pounders. The enemy 
had occupied a piece of timber within rifle-shot 
of the left wing of our army, from which an occa- 
sional interchange of small arms took place be- 
tween the troops, until the enemy withdrew to a 
position on the bank of the San Jacinto, about 
three-quarters of a mile from our encampment, 
and commenced fortification. 

A short time before sunset our mounted men, 
about eighty-five in number, under the special 
command of Colonel Sherman, marched out for 
the purpose of reconnoitering the enemy. While 
advancing they received a volley from the left of 
the enemy's infantry, and, after a sharp rencoun- 
ter with the cavalry, in which ours acted extremely 
well, and performed some feats of daring chiv- 
alry, they retired in good order, having had two 
men severely wounded and several horses killed. 
In the meantime, the infantry, under the command 
of Lieutenant-Colonel Millard, and Colonel Burle- 



322 SAM HOUSTON, 

son's regiment, with the artillery, had marched 
out for the purpose of covering the retreat of the 
cavajry, if necessary. All then fell back in good 
order to our encampment about sunset, and re- 
mained without ostensible action until the 21st, at 
half past three o'clock, taking the first refresh- 
ment which they had enjoyed for two days. The 
enemy in the meantime extended the right flank 
of their infantry so as to occupy the extreme point 
of a skirt of timber on the bank of the San Ja- 
cinto, and secured their left by a fortification 
about five feet high, constructed of packs and bag- 
gage, leaving an opening in the centre of the 
breastwork, in which their artillery was placed, 
their cavalry upon their left wing. 

About nine o'clock on the morning of the 21st 
the enemy were reinforced by five hundred choice 
troops, under the command of General Cos, in- 
creasing their effective force to upwards of fifteen 
hundred men, while our aggregate force for the 
field numbered seven hundred and eighty-three. 
At half past three o'clock in the evening I ordered 
the officers of the Texan army to parade their re- 
spective commands, having in the meantime 
ordered the bridge on the only road communicat- 
ing with the Brazos, distant eight miles from our 
encampment, to be destroyed, thus cutting off all 
possibility of escape. Our troops paraded with 
alacrity and spirit, and were anxious for the con- 
test. Their conscious disparity in numbers 
seemed only to increase their enthusiasm and con- 
fidence, and heightened their anxiety for the con- 
flict. Our situation afforded me an opportunity 
of making the arrangements preparatory to the 



THE BATTLE OF SAN JACINTO. 323 

attack without exposing our designs to the enemy. 
Our cavalry was first dispatched to the front of 
the enemy's left, for the purpose of attracting 
their notice, while an extensive island of timber 
afforded us an opportunity of concentrating our 
forces and deploying from that point, agreeably to 
the previous design of the troops. Every evolution 
was performed with alacrity, the whole advancing 
rapidly in line, through an open prairie, without 
any protection whatever for our men. The artil- 
lery advanced and took station within two hun- 
dred yards of the enemy's breastwork, and com- 
menced an effective fire with grape and canister. 

Colonel Sherman, with his regiment, having 
commenced the action upon our left wing, the 
whole line, at the centre and on the right, advanc- 
ing in double-quick time, raising the war-cry, ''Re- 
member the Alamo!" received the enemy^s fire, 
and advanced within point-blank shot, before a 
piece was discharged from our lines. Our line 
advanced without a halt, until they were in pos- 
session of the woodland and the enemy's breast- 
work — the right wing of Burleson's and the left 
wing of Millard's taking possession of the breast- 
work, our artillery having gallantly charged up 
within seventy yards of the enemy's cannon, when 
it was taken by our troops. 

The conflict lasted about eighteen minutes 
from the time of close action until we were in 
possession of the enemy's encampment, taking one 
piece of cannon (loaded), four stands of colors, 
all their camp equipage, stores and baggage. Our 
cavalry had charged and routed that of the enemy 
upon the right, and given pursuit to the fugitives, 



324 SAM HOUSTON. 

which did not cease until they arrived at the 
bridge which I have mentioned before, Captain 
Karnes, always among the foremost in danger, 
commanding the pursuers. The conflict in the 
breastwork lasted but a few moments; many of 
the troops encountered hand to hand, and, not hav- 
ing the advantage of bayonets on our side, our 
riflemen used their pieces as war-clubs, breaking 
many of them off at the breech. The rout com- 
menced at half -past four, and the pursuit by the 
main army continued until twilight. 

For the commanding General to attempt dis- 
crimination as to the conduct of those who com- 
manded in the action, or those who were com- 
manded, would be impossible. Our success in the 
action is conclusive proof of their daring intrepid- 
ity and courage; every officer and man proved 
himself worthy of the cause in which he battled, 
while the triumph received a lustre from the hu- 
manity which characterized their conduct after 
victory, and richly entitles them to the admira- 
tion and gratitude of their General. Nor should 
we withhold the tribute of our grateful thanks 
from that Being who rules the destinies of nations, 
and has, in the time of greatest need, enabled us to 
arrest a powerful invader while devastating our 
country. 

I have the honor, etc., 
; Sam Houston, 

Commander-in-Chief. 



THE WILD CAT, 325 



THE WILD CAT. 

FROM 

THE QUADRUPEDS OF NORTH AMERICA, 

BY 

JOHN JAMES AUDUBON. 

The general appearance of this species con- 
veys the idea of a degree of ferocity which cannot 
with propriety be considered as belonging to its 
character, although it will, when at bay, show its 
sharp teeth and with outstretched claws and in- 
furiated despair repel the attacks of either man 
or dog, sputtering the while and rolling its eyes 
like the common cat. 

In hunting at night for raccoons and opos- 
sums, in which sport the negroes on the planta- 
tions of Carolina take great delight, a Cat is 
occasionally ''treed" by the dogs ; and the negroes, 
who seldom carry a gun, climb up the tree and 
shake him off as they would do a raccoon ; and, 
although he fights desperately, he is generally 
killed by the dogs. 

The Wild Cat pursues his prey with both activ- 
ity and cunning, sometimes bounding suddenly 
upon the object of his rapacity, sometimes with 
stealthy pace approaching it in the darkness at 
night, seizing it with his strong retractile claws 
and sharp teeth and bearing it off to his retreat in 
the forest. 

The Bay Lynx (as this animal is sometimes 
called) is fond of swampy, retired situations, as 
well as the wooded sides of hills, and is still seen 



326 JOHN JAMES A UD UBON. 

occasionally in that portion of the Alleghany 
Mountains which traverse the States of Pennsyl- 
vania and New York. It is abundant in the cane- 
brakes (patches or thickets which often extend 
for miles and are almost impassable) bordering 
the lakes, rivers and lagoons of Carolina, Louisi- 
ana and other Southern and Southwestern States. 
This species also inhabits the mountains and the 
undulating or rolling country of the Southern 
States, and frequents the thickets that generally 
spring up on deserted cotton plantations, some of 
which are two or three miles long and perhaps a 
mile wide, and afford, from the quantity of briars, 
shrubs, and young trees of various kinds which 
have overgrown them, excellent cover for many 
quadrupeds and birds. In these bramble-covered 
old fields the *'Cats" feed chiefly on the rabbits and 
rats that make their homes in their almost im- 
penetrable and tangled recesses ; and seldom does 
the cautious Wild Cat voluntarily leave so com- 
fortable and secure a lurking place, except in the 
breeding season, or to follow in very sultry 
weather the dry beds of streams or brooks, to pick 
up the catfish, etc., or crayfish and frogs that re- 
main in the deep holes of the creeks during the 
droughts of summer. 

The Wild Cat not only makes great havoc 
among the chickens, turkeys and ducks of the 
planter, but destroys many of the smaller quad- 
rupeds, as well as partridges, and such other birds 
as he can surprise roosting on the ground. The 
hunters often run down the Wild Cat with packs 
of fox-hounds. When hard pressed by fast dogs, 
and in an open country, he ascends a tree with the 



THE WILD CAT. 327 

agility of a squirrel; but when the baying of the 
dogs calls his pursuers to the spot, and the un- 
erring rifle brings him to the ground, then, if not 
mortally wounded, he fights fiercely with the pack 
until killed. He will, however, when pursued by 
hunters with hounds, frequently elude both dogs 
and huntsmen, by an exercise of instinct so closely 
bordering on reason that we are bewildered in the 
attempt to separate it from the latter. No sooner 
does he become aware that the enemy is on his 
track than, instead of taking a straight course for 
the deepest forest, he speeds to one of the largest 
old fields overgrown with briery thickets in the 
neighborhood; and, having reached this tangled 
maze, he runs in a variety of circles, crossing and 
recrossing his path many times, and when he 
thinks the scent has been diffused sufficiently in 
different directions by this manoeuvre to puzzle 
both men and dogs, he creeps slyly forth and makes 
for the woods, or for some well-known swamp, 
and if he should be lucky enough to find a half- 
dried-up pond, or a part of the swamp on which 
the clayey bottom is moist and sticky, he seems to 
know that the adhesive soil, covering his feet and 
legs, so far destroys the scent that, ,although the 
hounds may be in full cry on reaching such a 
place, and while crossing it, they will lose the 
track on the opposite side, and perhaps not regain 
it without some difficulty and delay. 

At other times the "Cat," when chased by the 
dogs, gains some tract of "burnt wood," common 
especially in the pine lands of Carolina, where 
fallen and upright trees are alike blackened and 
scorched by the fire that has run among them, 

(22) 



328 JOHN JAMES A UD UBON. 

burning before it every blade of grass, every leaf 
and shrub, and destroying many of the largest 
trees in its furious course; and here the charcoal 
and ashes on the ground, after he has traversed 
the burnt district a short distance, and made a 
few leaps along the trunk of a fallen tree that 
has been charred in the conflagration, will gener- 
ally put any hounds at fault. Should no such 
chance of safety be within his reach, he does not 
despair, but, exerting his powers of flight to the 
utmost, increases his distance from the pursuing 
pack, and, following as intricate and devious a 
path as possible, after many a weary mile has 
been run over, he reaches a long-fallen trunk of a 
tree, on which he may perchance at some previous 
time have baffled the hunters as he is now about to 
do. He leaps on to it, and, hastily running to 
the farther end, doubles and returns to the point 
from which he gained the tree, and, after running 
backward and forward repeatedly on the fallen 
trunk, he makes a sudden and vigorous spring, 
leaping as high up into a tree some feet distant 
as he can; he then climbs to its highest forks 
(branches), and, closely squatted, watches the 
movements of his pursuers. The dogs are soon 
at fault, for he has already led them through 
many a crooked path; the hunters are dispirited 
and weary, and perhaps the density of the woods 
or the approach of night favors him. The hunts- 
men call off their dogs from the fruitless search, 
and give up the chase ; and shortly afterwards the 
escaped marauder descends leisurely to the earth, 
and wanders off in search of food, and to begin a 
new series of adventures. , 



THE WILD CAT, 329 

In some parts of Carolina, Georgia, Missis- 
sippi, and Louisiana the Wild Cat has at times be- 
come so great a nuisance as to have aroused the 
spirit of vengeance in the hearts of the planters, 
who are constant sufferers from his depredations. 
They have learned by experience that one Cat will 
do as much mischief among the pigs and poultry 
as a dozen gray foxes. They are now determined 
to allow their hounds, which they had hitherto 
kept solely for the favorite amusement of deer 
hunting, and which had always been whipped-in 
from the trail of the Wild Cat, to pursue him, 
through thicket, briar patch, marsh, and morass, 
until he is caught or killed. 

Arrangements for the Cat-hunt are made over- 
night. Two or three neighbors form the party, 
each one bringing with him all the hounds he can 
muster. We have seen thirty of the latter brought 
together on such occasions, some of which were 
not inferior to the best we have examined in Eng- 
land; indeed, great numbers of the finest fox- 
hounds are annually imported into Carolina. 

At the earliest dawn the party is summoned 
to the spot previously fixed on as the place of 
meeting. A horn is sounded — not low and with a 
single blast, as is usual in hunting the deer, lest 
the timid animal should be startled from its bed 
among the broom-grass and bound away out of 
the drive, beyond the reach of the hunter's double- 
barrel loaded with buckshot — but with a loud, long 
and oft-repeated blast, wakening the echoes that 
rise from the rice-fields and marshes and are re- 
verberated from shore to shore of the winding 



330 JOHN JAMES AUD UBON. 

sluggish river, until lost among the fogs and 
shadows of the distant forest. 

An answering horn is heard half a mile off, 
and anon comes another response from a different 
quarter. The party is soon collected; they are 
mounted, not on the fleetest and best-blooded 
horses, but on the most sure-footed (sometimes 
called "Old Field Tackles"), which know how to 
avoid the stump-holes on the burnt grounds of the 
pine lands, which stand the fire of the gun, and 
which cannot only go with tolerable speed, but are, 
to use a common expression, ''tough as a pine 
knot." The hunters greet each other in the open- 
hearted manner characteristic of the Southern 
planter. Each pack of dogs is under the guidance 
of a colored driver, whose business it is to control 
the hounds and encourage and aid them in the 
hunt. The drivers ride in most cases the fleetest 
horses on the ground, in order to be able, whilst 
on a deer hunt, to stop the dogs. The drivers 
are ordered to stop the dogs if a deer should 
be started, a circumstance which often occurs, 
and which has saved the life of many a Cat, 
whose fate five minutes before this unlucky 
occurrence was believed to be sealed. Orders 
are given to destroy the Cat fairly, by run- 
ning him down with the hounds, or if this cannot 
be done, then by shooting him if he ascends a tree 
or approaches within gun-shot of the stand which 
the hunter has selected as the most likely place for 
him to pass near. The day is most auspicious, 
there is not a breath of wind to rustle the falling 
leaves, nor a cloud to throw its shadows over the 
wide joyous landscape. The dewdrops are spark- 



THE WILD CAT. 331 

ling on the few remaining leaves of the persimmon 
tree, and the asters and dog-fennel hang drooping 
beneath their load of moisture. The dogs are 
gambolling in circles around, and ever and anon, 
in spite of all restraint, the joyous note breaks 
forth, the whole pack is impatient for the chase, 
and the young dogs are almost frantic with excite- 
ment. 

But we have not time for a farther description 
of the scene; whilst we are musing and gazing 
the word is given, ''Go !" and off starts the hounds, 
each pack following its own driver to different 
parts of the old fields, or along the borders of the 
swamps and marshes. Much time, labour and pa- 
tience are usually required before the ''Cat'' can 
be found by the dogs; sometimes there is a sud- 
den burst from one or the other of the packs, 
awakening expectation in the minds of the hunts- 
men, but the driver is not to be so easily deceived, 
as he has some dogs that never open at a rabbit, 
and the snap of the whip soon silences the riotous 
young babblers. Again, there is a wild burst and 
an exulting shout, giving assurance that better 
game than a rabbit is on foot; and now is heard 
a distant shot, succeeded in a second of time by 
another, and for an instant all is still; the 
echoes come roaring up through the woods, and 
as they gradually subside the crack of the whip 
is again heard stopping the dogs. The story is 
soon told ; a deer had been started — the shot was 
too small, or the distance too great, or any other 
excuses (which are always at hand among hunt- 
ers of fertile imagination) are made by the un- 
successful sportsman who fired, and the dogs are 



332 JOHN JAMES AUDUBON, 

carried back to the "trail" of the Cat that has been 
growing fresher and fresher for the last half- 
hour. At length 'Trimbush" (and a good dog 
is he), that has been working on the cold trail 
for some time, begins to give tongue, in a way 
that brings the other dogs to his aid. The driv- 
ers now advance to each other, encouraging their 
dogs; the trail becomes a drag; onward it goes 
through a broad marsh at the head of a rice-field. 
"He will soon be started now!" "He is up!" 
What a burst ! you might have heard it two miles 
off ; it comes in mingled sounds, roaring like thun- 
der from the muddy marsh and from the deep 
swamp. The barred owl, frightened from the 
monotony of his quiet life among the cypress 
trees, commences hooting in mockery, as it were, 
of the wide-mouthed hounds. Here they come, 
sweeping through the resounding swamp like an 
equinoxial storm — the crackling of a reed, the 
shaking of a bush, a glimpse of some object that 
glided past like a shadow, is succeeded by the 
whole pack, rattling away among the vines and 
fallen timbers, and leaving the trail in the mud as 
if a pack of wolves in pursuit of a deer had hur- 
ried by. The Cat has gone past. It is now evi- 
dent that he will not climb a tree. It is almost in- 
variably the case that where he can retreat to low, 
swampy situations, or briar patches, he will not 
take a tree, but seeks to weary the dogs by making 
short windings among the almost impassable briar 
patches. He has now been twisting and turning 
half a dozen times in a thicket covering only three 
or four acres ; let us go in and take our stand on 
the very trail where he has passed, and shoot 



THE WILD CAT. 333 

him if we can. A shot is heard on the opposite 
edge of the thicket, and again all is still ; but once 
more the pack is in full cry. Here he comes, al- 
most brushing our legs as he dashes by and dis- 
appears in the bushes, before we can get sight of 
him and pull trigger. But we see that the dogs 
are every moment pressing him closer; that the 
marauder is showing evidences of fatigue and is 
nearly "done up.'^ He begins to make narrower 
circles, there are restless flashes in his eye, his 
back is now curved upwards, his hair is bristled 
nervously forward, his tongue hangs out — we 
raise our gun as he is approaching, and, scarcely 
ten yards off, a loud report — the smoke has hardly 
blown aside ere we see him lifeless, almost at our 
feet; had we waited three minutes longer the 
hounds would have saved us the powder and shot ! 

It is not a very active swimmer, but is not 
averse to taking the water. We witnessed it on 
one occasion crossing the Santee River when not 
pursued, and at another time saw one swimming 
across some ponds to make its escape from the 
dogs. It has been observed, however, that when 
it has taken to the water during a hard chase it 
soon after either ascends a tree or is caught by the 
hounds. 

The domicile of the Wild Cat is sometimes 
under an old log, covered with vines such as the 
smilax, but more commonly in a hollow tree. 
Sometimes it is found in an opening twenty or 
thirty feet high, but generally much near'er the 
ground, frequently in a cavity at the root, and 
sometimes in the hollow trunk of a fallen tree, 
where, after collecting a considerable quantity of 



o 



34 JOHN JAMES A UD UBON. 



long moss and dried leaves to make a comfortable 
lair, it produces from two to four young. 

We once made an attempt at domesticating one 
of the young of this species, which we obtained 
when only two weeks old. It was a most spiteful, 
growling, snappish little wretch, and showed no 
disposition to improve its habits and manners 
under our kind tuition. We placed it in a wooden 
box, from which it was constantly striving to 
gnaw its way out. It, one night, escaped into our 
library, where it made sad work among the books 
(which gave us some valuable lessons on the phi- 
losophy of patience we could not have so readily 
found among our folios) , and left the marks of its 
teeth on the mutilated window-sashes. Finally, 
we fastened it with a light chain and had a small 
kennel built for it in the yard. Here it was con- 
stantly indulging is carnivorous propensities, and 
catching the young poultry, which it enticed with- 
in reach of its chain by leaving a portion of its 
food at the door of its house, into which it re- 
treated until an opportunity offered to pounce on 
its unsuspecting prey. Thus it continued, grow- 
ing, if possible, more wild and vicious every day, 
growling and spitting at every servant that ap- 
proached it, until at last, an unlucky blow, as a 
punishment for its mischievous tricks, put an end 
to its life, and with it, too, one source of annoyance. 



HENRY LYNDEN FLASH. 

Henry Lynden Flash was born in Cincinnati, January 
20, 1835. He was educated at the Western Military Insti- 
tute of Kentucky. He has lived, at different times in his 
life, in Macon, Mobile, Galveston, Los Angeles, and Italy, 
but perhaps New Orleans is his home. He was chiefly en- 
gaged in the cotton business. In the Civil War he served 
as aide to General W. H. Hardee, and later to General 
Joseph Wheeler. 

He has written a volume of Poems and a number of 
very popular war poems. 



WHAT THE CRICKET SANG. 

The little cricket left the hearth 

And sat upon my knee, 
And sang a sweet and merry song 
Of how my love loved me — 

"She loves you! she loves you!*' 

The little cricket sang; 
And through my fire-lighted room 
The merry music rang — 
She loves you ! she loves you ! 

God bless you, little cricket, 

For sitting on my knee. 
And singing such a dainty song 
Of how my love loves me — 

"She loves you! she loves you!" 

Again the cricket sang; 
And in my heart the marriage bells 
In happy cadence rang — 
She loves you ! she loves you ! 



336 HENR Y L YNDEN FLASH. 

The winter went — the summer came — 

The buds were on the lea, 
And my love was decked with orange flowers, 
But not, alas ! for me — 

"She loves you! she loves you!" 
Was rang and sang with glee ; 
But the birds that sang and the bells that 
rang, 
Neither rang nor sang for me — 
She loves you ! she loves you I 

The summer's gone — ^the winter's here — 

The cricket's on my knee ; 
But he sings no more, as he sang before. 
Of how my love loves me — 

**She loves you! she loves you!" 

He sings no more in glee ; 
Yet still I bless the little cricket, 
For singing once to me — 
She loves you ! she loves you ! 



THE LEGION OF HONOR. 337 



THE LEGION OF HONOR. 

Why are we forever speaking 

Of the warriors of old? 
Men are fighting all around us, 

Full as noble, full as bold. 

Ever working, ever striving. 
Mind and muscle, heart and soul ; 

With the reins of Judgment keeping 
Passions under full control. 

Noble hearts are beating boldly, 

As they ever did on earth ; 
Swordless heroes are around us, 

Striving ever from their birth — 

Tearing down the old abuses. 
Building up the purer laws. 

Scattering the dust of ages, 
Searching out the hidden flaws. 

Acknowledging no *'right divine*' 
In Kings and Princes from the rest ; 

In their creed he is the noblest 
Who has worked and striven best. 

Decorations do not tempt them — 
Diamond stars they laugh to scorn — 

Each will wear a ** Cross of Honor" 
On the Resurrection morn. 



338 HEXR Y L YNDEN FLASH. 

Warriors they in fields of wisdom — 

Like the noble Hebrew youth, 
Striking do^^Tl Goliath-error 

With the God-bless'd stone of truth. 

Marshalled 'neath the Right's broad banner, 
Forward rush these volunteers. 

Beating olden ^\Tong away 

From the fast advancing years. 

Contemporaries do not see them, 

But the coming times will say 
(Speaking of the slandered Present), 
''There were heroes in that daj^" 

Why are we then idly lying 

On the roses of our life, 
While the noble-hearted struggle 
In the world-redeeming strife? 

Let us rise and join the Legion, 

Ever foremost in the fray — 
Battling in the name of Progress, 

For the nobler, purer day. 



A COUNTRY BOY'S FIRST TRIAL. 339 



A COUNTRY BOY'S FIRST TRIAL. 

FROM 

LIFE OF PATRICK HENRY. 

BY 

WILLIAM WIRT. 

About the time of Mr. Henry's coming to the 
bar a controversy arose in Virginia between the 
clergy on the one hand, and the Legislature and 
people of the colony on the other, touching the 
stipend claimed by the former. 

Mr. Lewis, the attorney for the people, was so 
thoroughly convinced of the final triumph of the 
clergy that he retired from the cause, informing 
his clients that it had been, in effect, decided 
against them, and that there remained nothing 
more for him to do. In this desperate situation 
they applied to Patrick Henry, and he undertook 
to argue it for them before the jury at the ensuing 
term. Accordingly, on the first day of the follow- 
ing December, he attended the court, and, on his 
arrival, found on the courtyard such a concourse 
as would have appalled any other man in his situ- 
ation. 

Soon after the opening of the court the cause 
was called. The array before Mr. Henry's eyes 
was now most fearful. On the bench sat more 
than twenty clergymen, the most learned men in 
the colony, and the most capable, as well as the 
severest critics before whom it was possible for 
him to have made his debut. The courthouse was 
crowded with an overwhelming multitude, and 
surrounded with an immense and anxious throng, 
who, not finding room to enter, were endeavoring 
to listen from without in the deepest attention. But 



340 WILLIAM WIRT. 

there was something still more awfully discon- 
certing than all this, for in the chair of the pre- 
siding magistrate sat no other person than his 
own father. Mr. Lyons briefly argued the cause 
for the plaintiffs. And now came on the first 
trial of Patrick Henry's strength. No one had 
ever heard him speak, and curiosity was on 
tiptoe. He rose very awkwardly, and faltered 
much in his exordium. The people hung their 
heads at so unpromising a commencement; the 
clergy were observed to exchange sly looks with 
each other; and his father is described as having 
almost sunk with confusion from his seat. But 
these feelings were of short duration and soon 
gave place to others of a very different character. 
For now were those wonderful faculties which he 
possessed for the first time developed; and now 
was first witnessed that mysterious and almost su- 
pernatural transformation of appearance which 
the fire of his own eloquence never failed to work 
in him. His attitude, by degrees, became erect and 
lofty. The spirit of his genius awakened all his 
features. His countenance shone with a nobleness 
and grandeur which it had never before exhibited. 
There was a lightning in his eyes which seemed 
to rive the spectator. His action became graceful, 
bold, and commanding; and in the tones of his 
voice, but more especially in his emphasis, there 
was a peculiar charm, a magic, of which anyone 
who ever heard him will speak as soon as he is 
named, but of which no one can give any adequate 
description. They can only say that it struck upon 
the ear and upon the heart in a manner which 
language cannot tell. Add to all these his wonder- 
working fancy, and the peculiar phraseology in 
which he clothed his images ; for he painted to the 



A COUNTRY BOY'S FIRST TRIAL. 341 

heart with a force that almost petrified it. In the 
language of those who heard him on this occasion, 
''he made their blood run cold, and their hair to 
rise on end." 

The people, whose countenance had fallen as he 
arose, had heard but a very few sentences before 
they began to look up ; then to look at each other 
with surprise, as if doubting the evidence of their 
own senses; then, attracted by some strong ges- 
ture, by some majestic attitude, fascinated by the 
spell of his eye, the charm of his emphasis, and the 
varied and commanding expression of his counte- 
nance, they could look away no more. In less 
than twenty minutes they might be seen in every 
part of the house, on every bench, in every win- 
dow, stooping forward from their stands, in death- 
like silence ; their features fixed in amazement and 
awe; all their senses listening and riveted upon 
the speaker, as if to catch the last strain of some 
heavenly visitant. The mockery of the clergy was 
soon turned into alarm ; their triumph into confu- 
sion and despair; and at one burst of his rapid 
and overwhelming invective they fled from the 
bench in precipitation and terror. As for the 
father, such was his surprise, such his amaze- 
ment, such his rapture, that, forgetting where he 
was, and the character which he was filling, tears 
of ecstasy streamed down his cheeks, without the 
power or inclination to repress them. 

The jury seemed to have been so completely 
bewildered that they lost sight not only of the act 
of 1748, but that of 1758 also; for, thoughtless 
even of the admitted rights of the plaintiff, they 
had scarcely left the bar when they returned with 
a verdict of one penny damages. 



342 GEORGE WASHINGTON. 



EXTRACT FROM THE 
FAREWELL ADDRESS TO THE PEOPLE. 

BY 
GEORGE WASHINGTON. 

It is our true policy to steer clear of perma- 
nent alliances with any portion of the foreign 
world ; so far, I mean, as we are now at liberty to 
clo it; for let me not be understood as capable of 
patronizing infidelity to existing engagements. I 
hold the maxim, no less applicable to public than 
to private affairs, that honesty is always the best 
policy. I repeat it, therefore, let those engage- 
ments be observed in their genuine sense. But, 
in my opinion, it is unnecessary and would be un- 
wise to extend them. 

Taking care always to keep ourselves, by suit- 
table establishments, on a respectable defensive 
posture, we may safely trust to temporary alli- 
ances for extraordinary emergencies. 

Harmony, liberal intercourse with all nations, 
are recommended by policy, humanity, and inter- 
est. But even our commercial policy should hold 
an equal and impartial hand; neither seeking nor 
granting exclusive favors or preferences ; consult- 
ing the natural course of things; diffusing and 
diversifying by gentle means the streams of com- 
merce, but forcing nothing; establishing with 
powers so disposed, in order to give trade a stable 
course, to define the rights of our merchants, and 
to enable the government to support them, con- 
ventional rules of intercourse, the best that pres- 



FAREWELL ADDRESS. 343 

ent circumstances and mutual opinion will permit, 
but temporary, and liable to be from time to time 
abandoned or varied, as experience and circum- 
stances shall dictate; constantly keeping in view 
that it is folly in one nation to look for disinter- 
ested favors from another ; that it must pay with 
a portion of its independence for whatever it may 
accept under that character ; that by such accept- 
ance it may place itself in the condition of having 
given equivalents for nominal favors, and yet of 
being reproached with ingratitude for not giving 
more. There can be no greater error than to ex- 
pect or calculate upon real favors from nation to 
nation. It is illusion, which experience must cure, 
which a just pride ought to discard. 

In offering to you, my countrymen, these coun- 
sels of an old and affectionate friend, I dare not 
hope they will make the strong and lasting impres- 
sion I could wish ; that they will control the usual 
current of the passions, or prevent our nation 
from running the course which has hitherto 
marked the destiny of nations. But, if I may 
even flatter myself that they may be productive of 
some partial benefit, some occasional good; that 
they may now and then recur to moderate the fury 
of party spirit, to warn against the mischiefs of 
foreign intrigue, to guard against the impostures 
of pretended patriotism, this hope will be a full 
recompense for the solicitude for your welfare, by 
which they have been dictated. 

(23) 



344 MADISON JULIUS C AWE IN. 



HEART'S ENCOURAGEMENT. 

BY 

MADISON JULIUS CAWEIN. 

Nor time nor all his minions 

Of sorrow or of pain 
Shall dash with vulture pinions 

The cup she fills again 
Within the dream-dominions 

Of life where she doth reign. 

Clothed on with bright desire 
And hope that makes her strong, 

With limbs of frost and fire, 
She sits above all wrong, 

Her heart a living lyre, 
Her love its only song. 

And in the waking pauses 

Of weariness and care. 
And when the dark hour draws his 

Black weapon of despair 
Above effects and causes 

We hear its music there. 

The longings life hath near it 
Of love we yearn to see, 

The dreams it doth inherit 
Of immortality, 

Are callings of her spirit 
To something yet to be. 



"I'l 



REST. 345 

REST. 
FROM 

THE GARDEN OF DREAMS. 

BY 

MADISON JULIUS CAWEIN. 

Under the brindled beech, 

Deep in the mottled shade, 
Where the jocks hang in each 

Flower and ferny blade, 

Let him be laid. 

Here will the brooks, that rove 

Under the mossy trees, 
Grave with the music of 

Underworld melodies, 

Lap him in peace. 

Here will the winds, that blow 

Out of the haunted west. 
Gold with the dreams that glow 

There on the heaven's breast. 

Lull him to rest. 

Here will the stars and moon, 

Silent and far and deep, 
Old with the mystic rune 

Of the slow years that creep, 

Charm him with sleep. 

Under the ancient beech, 

Deep in the mossy shade. 
Where the hill moods may reach. 

Where the hill dreams may aid, 

Let him be laid. 

(By permission of Mrs. Madison J. Cawein and John P. 
Morton & Co.) 



RAPHAEL SEMMES. 

Admiral Semmes was born in Charles County, Mary- 
land, in 1809, and died at Mobile, Ala., in 1877. He re- 
signed from the Federal service at the beginning of tJfie 
Civil War and entered the Confederate Navy. As the 
Commander of the Sumter he distinguished himself for 
his skill and daring, and with his poorly fitted and poorly 
prepared side-wheel steamer he captured eighteen prizes. 
In August he took command at the Azores of the Alabama, 
that had been built in England and acquired by the Con- 
federacy. With this staunch and swift craft he swept the 
seas clean of Yankee vessels from the Azores to Brazil, 
from Brazil to Cape Town, from Cape Town to Singapore, 
and then back again. He captured in this cruise sixty-two 
prizes, and inflicted a loss upon the enemy amounting to 
ten million dollars. After his defeat by the Kearsarge he 
escaped to England, returned to Virginia as Rear Admiral, 
and was put in command of the vessels guarding the water 
approaches to Richmond. When that city was taken he 
blew up his boats, formed his men into a brigade of artil- 
lery, and in the last great battle of the war, at Saylor's 
Creek, by his determination and courage, was enabled to 
keep his naval colors flying long after all the others had 
come down. 

After the surrender at Greensborough he went to Mo- 
bile and took up the practice of law. He was arrested by 
the Federal authorities, but this act was such a flagrant 
violation of law that he was soon after released, even 
without a trial. He became the editor of a Mobile paper, 
and for a while taught in the Louisiana Military Institute. 

He has written a fascinatingly interesting account of 
the career of the Alabama in a work entitled Memoirs of 
Service Afloat. 



LAST FIGHT OF THE ALABAMA. 347 



THE LAST FIGHT OF THE ALABAMA. 

FROM 

MEMOIRS OF SERVICE AFLOAT. 

When the Alabama arrived in Cherbourg, the 
enemy's steamer Kearsarge was lying at Flushing. 
On the 14th of June, or three days after our ar- 
rival, she steamed into the harbor of Cherbourg, 
sent a boat on shore to communicate with the au- 
thorities, and, without anchoring, steamed out 
again, and took her station off the breakwater. We 
had heard, a day or two before, of the expected ar- 
rival of this ship, and it was generally understood 
among my crew that I intended to engage her. Her 
appearance, therefore, produced no little excite- 
ment on board. I addressed la note to Mr. Bonfils, 
our agent, requesting him to inform Captain 
Winslow, through the United States Consul, that 
if he would wait until I could receive some coal on 
board my supply having been nearly exhaust- 
ed by my late cruising — I would come out and 
give him battle. This message was duly con- 
veyed, and the defiance was understood to have 
been accepted. 

We commenced coaling ship immediately, and 
making other preparations for battle, as sending 
down all useless yards and top-hamper, examin- 
ing the gun equipments, and overhauling the 
magazine and shell rooms. My crew seemed not 
only willing but anxious for the combat, and I 
had every confidence in their steadiness and drill ; 
but they labored under one serious disadvantage. 



348 RAPHAEL SEMMES. 

They had had but very limited opportunities of 
actual practice at target-firing with shot and 
shell. The reason is obvious. I had no means cf 
replenishing either ^hot or shell, and wias obliged, 
therefore, to husband the store I had on hand, for 
the time of actual conflict. As for the two ships, 
though the enemy was superior to me, both in size, 
standhness of construction, and armament, they 
were of force so nearly equal that I cannot be 
charged with rashness in having offered battle. 
The Kearsarge mounted seven guns ; — ^two eleven- 
inch Dahlgrens, four 32-pounders, and a rifled 
28-pounder. The Alabama mounted eight — one 
eight-inch, one rifled 100-pounder, and six 32- 
pounders. Though the Alajbama carried one gun 
more than her antagonist, it is seen that the bat- 
tery of the latter enabled her to throw more metal 
at a broadside — ^there being a difference of three 
inches in the bore of the shell-^guns of the two 
ships. 

Still the disparity was not so great but that I 
might hope to beat my enemy in a fair fig'ht. But 
he did not show me a fair fight, for, as it afterward 
turned out, his ship was iron^clad. It was the 
same thing as if two men were to go out to fight 
a duel, and one of them, unknown to the other, 
were to put a shirt of mail under his outer gar- 
ments. The days of chivalry being past, perhaps 
it would be unfair to charge Captain Winslow with 
deceit in withholding from me the fact that he 
meant to wear armor in the fight. He may have 
reasoned that it was my duty to find it out for 
myself. 

In the way of crew, the Kearsarge had 162, 



LAST FIGHT OF THE ALABAMA. 349 

all told — the Alabama, 149. I had communicated 
my intention to fight this battle to Flag-Officer 
Barron, my senior officer in Paris, a few days be- 
fore, and that officer had generously left the mat- 
ter to my own discretion. I completed my prepa- 
rations on Saturday evening, the 18th of June, 
and notified the Port-Admiral of my intention to 
go out on the following morning. The next day 
dawned beautiful and bright. The cloudy, murky 
weather of some days past had cleared off, and 
a bright sun, a gentle breeze, and a smooth sea, 
were to be the concomitants of the battle. Whilst 
I was still in my cot, the Admiral sent an officer 
off to say to me that the iron-clad frigate Cou- 
ronne would accompany me a part of the way out, 
to see that the neutrality of French waters was 
not violated. My crew had turned in early, and 
gotten a good night's rest, and I permitted them 
to get their breakfasts comfortably — not turning 
them to until nine o'clock — before any movement 
was made toward getting under way, beyond light- 
ing the fires in the furnaces. It is opportune here 
to state that, in view of possible contingencies, I 
had directed Gait, my acting paymaster, to send 
on shore for safekeeping the funds of the ship, 
and complete pay rolls of crew, showing the state 
of the account of each officer and man. 

The day being Sunday, and the weather fine, 
a large concourse of people — many having come 
all the way from Paris — collected on the heights 
above the town, in the upper stories of such of the 
houses as commanded a view of the sea, and on 
the walls and fortifications of the harbor. Several 
French luggers employed as pilot-boats went out, 



350 RAPHAEL SEMMES. 

and also an English steam-yacht, called the Deer- 
hound. Everything being in readiness between 
nine and ten o'clock, we got under way, and pro- 
ceeded to sea, through the western entrance of 
the harbor, the Couronne following us. As we 
emerged from behind the mole, we discovered the 
Kearsarge at a distance of between six and seven 
miles from the land. She had been apprised of our 
intention of coming out that morning, and was 
awaiting us. The Couronne anchored a short dis- 
tance outside of the harbor. We were three- 
quarters of an hour in running out to the Kear- 
sarge, during which time we had gotten our peo- 
ple to quarters, cast loose the battery, and made 
all the other necessary preparations for battle. 
It only remained to open the magazine and shell- 
rooms, sand down the decks, and fill the requisite 
number of tubs with water. The crew had been 
particularly neat in their dress on that morning, 
and the officers were all in the uniforms appro- 
priate to their rank. As we were approaching the 
enemy's ship, I caused the crew to be sent aft with- 
in convenient reach of my voice, and mounting a 
gun-carriage delivered them la simple and brief 
address. I had not spoken to them in this formal 
way since I had addressed them on the memorable 
occasion of commissioning the ship. 

The utmost silence prevailed during the deliv- 
ery of this laddress, broken only once, in an en- 
thusiastic outburst of "Never! Never!" when I 
asked my sailors if they would permit the name 
of their ship to be tarnished by defeat. My of- 
ficial report of the engagement, addressed to Flag- 
Officer Barron, in Paris, will describe what now 



LAST FIGHT OF THE ALABAMA, 351 

took place. It was written at Southampton, Eng- 
land, two days after the battle : 

Southampton, June 21, 1864. 

Sir: — I have the honor to inform you that, in 
accordance with my intention as previously an- 
nounced to you, I steamed out of the harbor of 
Cherbourg between nine and ten o'clock on the 
morning of the 19th of June, for the purpose of 
engaging the enemy's steamer Kearsarge, which 
had been lying off , and on the port, for several 
days previously. After clearing the harbor, we 
descried the enemy, with his head off shore, at the 
distance of about seven miles. We were three- 
quarters of an hour coming up with him. I had 
previously pivoted my guns to starboard, and 
made all preparations for engaging the enemy on 
that side. When within about a mile and a quar- 
ter of the enemy, he suddenly wheeled, and, bring- 
ing his head in shore, presented his starboard bat- 
tery to me. By this time we were distant about 
one mile from each other, when I opened on him 
with solid shot, to which he replied in a few min- 
utes, and the action became active on both sides. 
The enemy now pressed his ship under a full head 
of steam, and to prevent our passing each other too 
speedily, and to keep our respective broadsides 
bearing, it became necessary to fight in a circle; 
the two ships steaming around a common centre 
and preserving a distance from each other of 
from three-quarters to half a mile. When we got 
within good shell range, we opened upon him with 
shell. Some ten or fifteen minutes after com- 
mencement of the action, our spanker-gaff was 



352 RAPHAEL SEMMES. 

shot away, and our ensign came down by the run. 
This was immediately replaced by another at the 
mizzen-mast head. The firing now became very 
hot, and the enemy's shot and shell soon began to 
tell upon our hull, knocking down, killing and dis- 
abling a number of men, at the same time, in dif- 
ferent parts of the ship. Perceiving that our shell, 
though apparently exploding against the enemy's 
sides, were doing him but little damage, I returned 
to solid-shot firing, and from this time onward 
alternated with shot and shell. 

After the lapse of about one hour and ten min- 
utes, our ship was ascertained to be in a sinking 
condition, the enemy's shell having exploded in 
our side, and ibetween decks, opening large aper- 
tures through which the water rushed with great 
rapidity. For some few minutes I had hopes of 
•being able to reach the French coast, for which 
purpose I gave the ship all steam, and set such ox 
the fore-and-aft sails as were available. The ship 
filled so rapidly, however, that before we had made 
much progress the fires were extinguished in the 
furnaces, and we were evidently on the point of 
sinking. I now hauled down my colors, to prevent 
the further destruction of life, and dispatched a 
boat to inform the enemy of our condition. Al- 
though we were now about 400 yards from each 
other, the enemy fired upon me five times after my 
colors had been struck. It is charitable to suppose 
that a ship of war of a Christian nation could not 
have done this intentionally. We now directed all 
our exertions toward saving the wounded, and such 
of the boys of the ship as were unable to swim. 
There was no appearance of any boat coming to 



LAST FIGHT OF THE ALABAMA. 353 

me from the enemy, until after my ship went 
down. Fortunately, however, the steam-yacht 
Deerhound, owned by a gentleman of Lancashire, 
England — Mr. John Lancaster — who was himself 
on board, steamed up in the midst of my drowning 
men, and rescued a number of both officers and 
men from the water. I was fortunate enough my- 
self thus to escape to the shelter of the neutral 
flag, together with about forty others, all told. 
About this time the Kearsarge sent one, and then, 
tardily, another boat. At the end of the engage- 
ment, it was discovered by those who went along- 
side of the enemy's ship, with the wounded, that 
her midship section, on both sides, was thoroughly 
iron-coated; this having been done with chains 
constructed for the purpose, placed perpendicu- 
larly, from the rail to the water's edge, the whole 
covered over by a thin outer planking, which gave 
no indication of the armor beneath. My officers 
and men behaved steadily and gallantly, and 
though they have lost their ship they have not 
lost honor. 

(By permission of J, P. Kennedy & Sons.) 



354 SAMUEL HENRY DICKSON. 

SONIG— WRITTEN AT THE NORTH. 

BY 
SAMUEL HENRY DICKSON. 
I SIGH for the land of the Cypress and Pine, 
Where the Jessamine hlooms, and the gay Wood- 
bine ; 
Where the moss droops low from the green Oak 

tree. 
Oh ! that sun-bright land is the land for me. 

The snowy flower of the Orange there 
Sheds its sweet fragrance through the air — 
And the Indian rose delights to 'twine 
Its branches with the laughing vine. 

There the Humming-bird of rainbow plume 
Hangs over the scarlet creeper's bloom, 
While 'midst the leaves his varying dyes 
Sparkle like half-seen fairy eyes. 

There the Deer leaps light through the open glade, 
Or hides him far in the forest shade, 
When the woods resound in the dewy morn 
With the clang of the merry hunter's horn. 

There the echoes ring through the livelong day 
With the Mock-bird's changeful roundelay; 
And at night, when the scene is calm and still, 
With the moan of the plaintive Whip-poor-Will. 

Oh ! I sigh for the land of the Cypress and Pine, 
Of the Laurel, the Rose, and the gay Woodbine; 
Where the long gray moss decks the rugged Oak 

tree, 
That sun-^bright land is the land for me. 

(By permission of Miss Belle Dickson.) 





€^0^0-^^-^ 



JEFFERSON DAVIS. 

Jefferson Davis, the first and only President of the 
Confederate States of America, was born in Christian 
(now Todd) County, Kentucky. During his babyhood his 
parents moved to Mississippi. His education was begun 
in this State. For a time he attended Transylvania Uni- 
versity, and completed his college training at West Point. 
He served in the regular army for seven years, being sta- 
tioned most of the time in Missouri and Minnesota. 

After the death of his first wife, a daughter of General 
Zachary Taylor, he returned to his home, Brierfield, in Mis- 
sissippi, and undertook the operation of the plantation. 

He served in the Black Hawk War. He resigned from 
the House of Representatives, to which he had been elected 
in 1845, to become Colonel of Mississippi troops in the 
Mexican War. He won renown for his bravery at Monte- 
rey, and his courage and the skill with which he disposed 
his men at the battle of Buena Vista spread his reputation 
throughout this country and Europe. 

He was appointed Secretary of War by President 
Pierce. 

He was a strong advocate of the States' Rights Doc- 
trine, and when his State seceded he resigned from the 
United States Senate, returning to Mississippi to be put 
in command of her forces. He was, however, chosen to 
be President of the Confederacy, and installed in office at 
Montgomery, February, 1861. The capital was soon after 
moved to Richmond. When Richmond fell, Davis escaped 
to Georgia, but was there, together with his wife, cap- 
tured by Federal troops. He was sent to Fortress Monroe, 
where he was kept prisoner under conditions more nearly 
resembling the treatment of prisoners of the Middle Ages 
than the humanity that is expected of the civilized 19th 
century. He was charged with treason, but, as he had 
not been guilty of treason, and no self-respecting jury or 



356 JEFFERSON DAVIS. 

Judge would convict him, he was released without a trial. 
On his release he went to Canada and Europe in search of 
health. He came back to the South, was president of an 
insurance company in Memphis, then settled at Beauvois, 
Miss., and was making arrangements to purchase it when 
its owner, Mrs. Dorsey, died and left it to him and his 
daughter "Winnie." 

His Rise and Fall of the Confederacy is a strong de- 
fense of the principles of the South. He was a statesman, 
ranking second only to that group of immortals of whom 
Calhoun, Clay, and Webster were the leaders. He was an 
orator of a high order. "His orations and addresses are 
marked by classical purity, chaste elegance of expression, 
a certain nobleness of diction; there is, indeed, a dignity, 
a high seriousness, in all that he wrote." 



SPEECH ON LEAVING THE SENATE 
JANUARY 21, 1861. 

I RISE, Mr. President, for the purpose of an- 
nouncing to the Senate that I have satisfactory 
evidence that the State of Mississippi, by a sol- 
emn ordinance of her people in convention as- 
sembled, has declared her separation from the 
United States. Under these circumstances, of 
course, my functions are terminated here. It has 
seemed to me proper, however, that I should ap- 
pear in the Senate to announce that fact to my 
associates, and I will say but very little more. 
The occasion does not invite me to go into argu- 
ment; and my physical condition would not per- 
mit me to do so if it were otherwise, and yet it 
seems to hecome me to say something on the part 
of the State I here represent on an occasion so 
solemn as this. 



SPEECH ON LEA VING SENA TE. 35T 

I therefore say I concur in the action of the 
people of Mississippi, believing it to he necessary 
and proper, and should have been bound by their 
action if my belief had been otherwise. * * * 

It has been a conviction of pressing neces- 
sity, it has been a belief that we are to be de- 
prived in the Union of the rights which our 
fathers bequeathed to us, which has brought 
Mississippi into her present decision. 

Then, Senators, we recur to the compact which 
binds us together; we recur to the principles 
upon which our government was founded; and 
when you deny them, and when you deny to us 
the right to withdraw from a government which, 
thus perverted, threatens to be destructive of 
our rights, we but tread in the path of our 
fathers when we proclaim our independence and 
take the hazard. This is done not in hostility to 
others, not to injure any section of the country, 
not even for our own pecuniary benefit ; but from 
the high and solemn motive of defending and 
protecting the rights we inherited, and which it 
is our sacred duty to transmit unshorn to our 
children. 

I find in myself, perhaps, a type of the gen- 
eral feeling • of my constituents towards yours. 
I am sure I feel no hostility to you. Senators 
from the North. I am sure there is not one of 
you, whatever sharp discussion there may have 
been between us, to whom I cannot now say, in 
the presence of my God, I wish you well; and 
such, I am sure, is the feeling of the people whom 
I represent towards those whom you represent. I 
therefore feel that T but express their desire 



358 JEFFERSON DAVIS. 

when I say I hope, and they hope, for peaceful 
relations with you, though we must part. They 
may be mutually beneficial to us in the future, 
as they have been in the past, if you so will it. 
The reverse may bring disaster on every portion 
of the country ; and, if you will have it thus, we 
will invoke the God of our fathers, who delivered 
them from the power of the lion, to protect us 
from the ravages of the bear; and thus putting 
our trust in God, and in our own firm hearts and 
strong hands, we will vindicate the right as best 
we. may. 

In the course of my service here, associated 
at different times with a great variety of Sena- 
tors, I see now around me some with whom I 
have served long; there have been points of col- 
lision, but whatever of offense there has been to 
me, I leave here; I carry with me no hostile re- 
membrance. Whatever offense I have given 
which has not been redressed, or for w^hich satis- 
faction has not been demanded, I have, Sena- 
tors, in this hour of our parting, to offer you my 
apology for any pain which, in heat of discus- 
sion, I have inflicted. I go hence unencumbered 
of the remembrance of any injury received, and 
having discharged the duty of making the only 
reparation in my power for any injury offered. 

Mr. President, and Senators, having made the 
announcement w^hich the occasion seemed to me 
to require, it only remains for me to bid you a 
final adieu. 



ABRAM JOSEPH RYAN. 
(Father Ryan.) 

Father Ryan, soldier-priest and poet, was born in 
Norfolk, Va., August 15, 1839, and died in Louisville, Ky., 
April 22, 1886. He had hardly been admitted to the Ro- 
man Catholic priesthood before he entered the Confederate 
Army as chaplain. After the war his duties called him 
to New Orleans, Knoxville, Augusta, and to Mobile, where 
he remained for twelve years. 

In his religious poems the strain of melancholy, so nat- 
ural to the Celt, is ever present. His nonreligious poems 
breathe the most intense patriotism. 

He is the author of Poems; Some Aspects of Modem 
Civilization, and an unfinished Life of Christ. 



IN MEMORIAM. 

Thou art sleeping, brother, sleeping 

In thy lonely battle grave; 
Shadows o'er the past are creeping, 
Death, the reaper, still is reaping, 
Years have swept, and years are sweeping,. 
Many a memory from my keeping, 
But Fm waiting still, and weeping, 

For my beautiful and brave. 

When the battle songs were chanted, 

And war's stirring tocsin pealed, 
By those songs thy heart was haunted, 
And thy spirit, proud, undaunted, 
Clamored wildly — wildly panted: 

(24) 



360 ABRAM JOSEPH RYAN, 

"Mother! let my wish be granted; 
I will ne'er be mocked and taunted 
That I fear to meet our vaunted 
Foemen on the bloody field. 

"They are thronging, mother! thronging, 

To a thousand fields of fame; 
Let me go — 'tis wrong, and wronging 
God and thee to crush this longing; 
On the muster-roll of glory. 
In my country's future story. 
On the field of battle gory 

I must consecrate my name. 

^'Mother ! gird my sword around me, 

Kiss thy soldier boy 'good-bye.' " 
In her arms she wildly wound thee. 
To thy birth-land's cause she bound thee, 
With fond prayers and blessings crowned thee, 
And she sobbed: "When foes surround thee, 
If you fall, I'll know they found thee 

Where the bravest love to die." 

At the altar of their nation 

Stood that mother and her son. 
He, the victim of oblation. 
Panting for his immolation; 
She, in priestess' holy station. 
Weeping words of consecration, 
While God smiled his approbation. 
Blessed the boy's self-abnegation, 
Cheered the mother's desolation. 

When the sacrifice was done. 



IN MEMORIAM. 361 

Forth, like many a noble other, 
Went he, whispering soft and low: 

"Good-bye — ^pray for me, my mother; 

Sister! kiss me — farewell, brother"; 

And he strove his grief to smother. 

Forth, with footsteps firm and fearless, 

And his parting gaze was tearless. 

Though his heart was lone and cheerless, 
Thus from all he loved to go. 

Lo! yon flag of freedom flashing 

In the sunny Southern sky: 
On, to death and glory dashing, 
On, where swords are clanging, clashing, 
On, where (balls are crushing, crashing, 
On, 'mid perils dread, appalling, 
On, they're falling, falling, falling, 
On, they're growing fewer, fewer, 
On, their hearts beat all the truer. 

On, on, on, no fear, no falter, 

On, though round the battle-altar 
There were wounded victims moaning. 
There were dying soldiers groaning; 
On, right on, death's danger braving. 
Warring where their flag was waving, 
While baptismal blood was laving 

All that field of death and slaughter; 
On, still on; that bloody lava 
Made them brave and made them braver, 
On, with never a halt or waver. 
On, in battle — ^bleeding — bounding, 
While the glorious shout swept sounding, 

"We will win the day or die!" 



362 ABRAM JOSEPH RYAN. 

And they won it; routed — riven — 

Reeled the foemen's proud array: 
They had struggled hard, and striven, 
Blood in torrents they had given, 
But their ranks, dispersed and driven, 
Fled, in sullenness, av^^ay. 

Many a heart was lonely lying 
That would never throb again ; 

Some were dead, and some were dying; 

Those were silent, these were sighing; 

Thus to die alone, unattended, 

Unbewept and unbefriended, 
On that bloody battle-plain. 

When the twilight sadly, slowly. 

Wrapped its mantle o'er them all. 
Thousands, thousands lying lowly. 
Hushed in silence deep and holy. 
There was one, his blood was flowing 
And his last of life was going. 

And his pulse faint, fainter, beating 
Told his hours were few and fleeting; 
And his brow grew white and whiter. 
While his eyes grew strangely brighter; 
There he lay — like infant dreaming, 
With his sword beside him gleaming. 
For the hand in life that grasped it, 
True in death still fondly clasped it; 
There his comrades found him lying 
'Mid the heaps of dead and dying. 
And the sternest bent down weeping 



INMEMORIAM. 363 

O'er the lonely sleeper sleeping: 
Twas the midnight; stars shone round him, 
And they told us how they found him 
Where the bravest love to fall. 

Where the woods, like banners bending, 

Drooped in starlight and in gloom, 
There, when that sad night was ending, 
And the faint, far dawn was blending 
With the stars now fast descending; 
There they mute and mournful bore him, 
With the stars and shadows o'er him. 
And they laid him down — so tender — 
And the next day's sun, in splendor. 
Flashed above my brother's tomb. 



364 ABRAM JOSEPH RYAN. 



A THOUGHT. 

The summer rose the sun has flushed 
With crimson glory may be sweet ; 

'Tis sweeter when its leaves are crushed 
Beneath the wind's and tempest's feet. 

The rose that waves upon its tree 
In life sheds perfume all around; 

More sweet the perfume floats to me 
Of roses trampled on the ground. 

The waving rose with every 'breath 
Scents carelessly the summer air; 

The wounded rose bleeds forth in death 
A sweetness far more rich and rare. 

It is a truth heyond our ken — 

And yet a truth that all may read — - 

It is with roses as with men, 

The sweetest hearts are those that bleed. 

The flower which Bethlehem saw bloom 
Out of a heart all full of grace 

Gave never forth its full perfume 
Until the cross became its vase. 

(By permission of P. J. Kennedy & Sons.) 



JUDAH PHILIP BENJAMIN. 

The parents of this gifted man left England to settle 
in New Orleans, but, finding the British fleet at the mouth 
of the Mississippi, they stopped at the island of St. Croix, 
in the West Indies, where Judah was born. He spent most 
of his boyhood in Wilmington, N. C. He was a pupil for 
three years at Yale, and studied law in New Orleans. He 
was twice elected to the Senate from Louisiana, and when 
Louisiana seceded he was made Attorney-General of the 
Confederacy, later becoming its Secretary of State. When 
Richmond was taken he escaped to Florida, from there, in 
an open boat, to the Bahamas, and finally to England. He 
prepared himself for the bar of England, and rapidly be- 
came there, as he had been in America, one of the most 
eminent lawyers of the land. He died in Paris, May 8, 
1884, in his seventy-fourth year. 



SPEECH ON LEAVING THE SENATE, FEB. 
RUARY 4, 1861. 

Sir, when force bills, armies, navies, and all 
the accustomed coercive appliances of despots 
shall be proposed and advocated, voices shall be 
heard from this side of the chamber that vi^ill 
make its very roof resound with the indignant 
clamor of outraged freedom. Methinks I still hear 
ringing in my ears the appeal of the eloquent Rep- 
resentative (Hon. George H. Pendleton, of Ohio), 
whose Northern home looks down on Kentucky's 
fertile borders: "Armies, money, blood, cannot 
maintain this Union ; justice, reason, peace, may." 



366 JUDAH PHILIP BENJAMIN, 

And now to you, Mr. President, and to my 
brother Senators, on all sides of this Chamber, I 
bid you a respectful farewell ; with many of those 
from whom I have been radically separated in 
political sentiment, my personal relations have 
been kindly, and have inspired me with a respect 
and esteem that I shall not willingly forget ; with 
those around me from the Southern States, I part 
as men part from brothers on the eve of a tem- 
porary absence, with a cordial pressure of the 
hand and a smiling assurance of the speedy re- 
newal of sweet intercourse around the family 
hearth. But to you, noble and generous friends, 
who, born beneath other skies, possess hearts that 
beat in sympathy with ours ; to you, who, solicited 
and assailed by motives the most powerful that 
could appeal to selfish natures, have nobly spurned 
them all; to you who, in our behalf, have bared 
your breasts to the fierce beatings of the storm, 
and made willing sacrifice of life's most glittering 
prizes in your devotion to constitutional liberty; 
to you, who have made our cause your cause, and 
from many of whom I feel I part forever, what 
shall I, can I, say? Nought, I know and feel, is 
needed for myself ; but this I will say for the peo- 
ple in whose name I speak to-day: whether pros- 
perous or adverse fortunes await you, one price- 
less treasure is yours — ^the assurance that an en- 
tire people honor your names, and behold them in 
grateful and affectionate memory. But with still 
and more touching return shall your unselfish de- 
votion be rewarded. When, in after days, the 
story of the present shall be written ; when history 
shall have passed her stern sentence on the erring 



SPEECH ON LEAVING SENATE. 367 

men who have driven their unoffending brethren 
from the shelter of their common home, your 
names will derive fresh luster from the contrast ; 
and when your children shall hear repeated the 
familiar tale, it will be with glowing cheek and 
kindling eye, their very souls will stand a-tiptoe 
as their sires are named, and they will glory in 
their lineage from men of spirit as generous and 
of patriotism as high-hearted as ever illustrated 
or adorned the American Senate. 



368 JAMES MATTHEWS LEGARE, 



AHAB MAHOMMED. 

BY 

JAMES MATTHEWS LEGARE. 



A PEASANT stood before a king and said : 

"My children starve, I come to thee for bread." 

On cushions soft and silken sat enthroned 

The king, and looked on him that prayed and 

moaned, 
Who cried again : 'Tor bread I come to thee." 
For grief, like wine, the tongue will render free. 
Then said the prince, with simple truth : ''Behold 
I sit on cushions silken-soft, of gold 
And wrought with skill the vessels which they 

bring 
To fitly grace the banquet of a king. 
But at my gate the Mede triumphant beats, 
And die for food my people in the streets. 
Yet no good father hears his child complain 
And gives him stones for bread, for alms disdain. 
Come, thou and I will sup together — come." 
The wondering courtiers saw — saw and were 

dumb: 
Then followed with their eyes where Ahab led 
With grace the humble guest, amazed, to share his 

bread. 
Him half -abashed the royal host withdrew 
Into a room, the curtained doorway through. 
Silent behind the folds of purple closed, 
In marble life the statues stood disposed ; 
From the high ceiling, perfume breathing, hung 
Lamps rich, pomegranate-shaped, and golden- 
swung. 



AHAB MAHOMMED, 369 

Gorgeous the board with massive metal shone, 
Gorgeous with gems arose in front a throne ; 
These through the Orient lattice saw the sun. 
If gold there was, of meat and bread was none 
Save one small loaf; this stretched his hand and 

took 
Ahab Mohammed, prayed to God, and broke ; 
One-half his yearning nature bid him crave. 
The other gladly to his guest he gave. 
"I have no more to give," he cheerily said ; 
"With thee I share my only loaf of bread." 
Humbly the stranger took the offered crumb 
Yet ate not of it, standing meek and dumb ; 
Then lifts his eyes, the wondering Ahab saw 
His rags fall from him as the snow in thaw. 
Resplendent, blue, those orbs upon him turned ; 
All Ahab's soul within him throbbed and burned. 

"Ahab Mohammed," spoke the vision then, 
"From this thou shalt be blessed among men. 
Go forth — thy gates the Mede bewildered flees, 
And Allah thank thy people on their knees ; 
He who gives somewhat does a worthy deed. 
Of him the recording angel shall take heed. 
But he that halves all that his house doth hold, 
His deeds are more to God — yea, more than finest 
gold." 



ALEXANDER BEAUFORT MEEK. 

Alexander Beaufort Meek was born in Columbia, 
S. C, lived most of his life in Alabama, and died in Colum- 
bi s, Miss. He served the State of Alabama as Representa- 
tive, Attorney-General, and United States Attorney. He was 
Assistant Secretary of the Treasury. He was a volunteer 
in the Seminole War, but took no active part in the Civil 
War. He died in 1865, when he was little more than fifty- 
cne years old. He achieved distinction as a writer of both 
prose and poetry. 



THE CANOE FIGHT. 

FROM 

ROMANTIC PASSAGES IN SOUTHWESTERN 

HISTORY. 

The Canoe Fight was one of the early conse- 
quences of the massacre of Fort Mims. The 
friends and relatives of the sufferers in that san- 
guinary affair were roused to almost savage in- 
dignation and hostility. They were men well cal- 
culated, both by nature and habits of life, to meet 
such an emergency. With no dependence but the 
axe and the rifle, they had brought their families 
through the wilderness and made them homes 
upon the table-plains and rich alluvial bottoms of 
our two principal streams. To a spectator, the 
strange buckskin garb, the hunting shirt, leg- 
gings and moccasins, the long and heavy rifle, the 
large knife swinging by the shot-bag, the proud, 



THE CANOE FIGHT. 371 

erect deportment, but cautious tread, and the keen, 
far-seeing, but apparently passive eye of the set- 
tler in the fork of the Alabama and Tombigbee, 
upon the Tensas, or about Fort St. Stephens,, 
would have spoken much of the moral energies 
and purpose of the man. Of such an order were 
most of those who, determined to avenge the 
butchery of their neighbors, by Weatherford at 
Fort Mims. 

Within two days after the massacre at Fort 
Mims a large body of warriors, under Francis, the 
Prophet, appeared in the vicinity of Fort Sinque- 
field, the most exposed station, and massacred 
twelve members of the families of Abner James 
and Ransom Kimball, who rashly remained at the 
residence of the latter, two miles from the fort. 

The news of the massacre of these families, 
reaching Fort Madison, a detachment of ten men, 
among whom were James Smith, John Wood, and 
Isaac Haden, were sent to the spot. They found 
the bodies of the dead and took them to Sinque- 
field for burial. While the whole garrison of that 
little station, including the wom.en and children, 
were outside of the fort, engaged in this ceremony, 
Francis and his warriors suddenly rushed down 
toward them from behind a neighboring hill. All 
escaped in safety to the fort except a few women 
who had gone some distance to a spring. Seeing 
the Indians about to intercept them, Haden, who 
happened to be on horseback, with a large pack of 
dogs, which he kept for hunting, immediately 
dashed forward, and cheered his dogs, with many^ 
others from the fort, numbering in all about sixty, 
to an assault upon the savages. Never did a pack 



372 ALEXANDER BE A UFORT MEEK. 

of English hounds leap more furiously upon a cap- 
tured fox than did these wild curs upon the naked 
Indians. The necessity of defence against their 
strange foes checked the savage onset, and all the 
women but one, a Mrs. Phillips, who was over- 
taken and scalped, escaped with Haden into the 
fort. His horse was killed under him and he had 
five bullets through his clothes, but received no 
wound. 

The incensed Francis and his followers now 
made a furious attack upon the fort, but were re- 
pulsed with a considerable loss. Only one man 
and a boy of the defenders were slain. The In- 
dians, having drawn off, the occupants of Sinque- 
field that night stealthily abandoned the place and 
fled to Fort Madison. 

The inmates of Fort Madison, incensed at these 
sanguinary events and satisfied that the body of 
the hostile Indians was now south of the Alabama, 
extending their depredations upon the plantations 
along that river, determined to make an expedi- 
tion against them. 

This was at once organized, consisting of thirty 
"Mississippi twelve-months' men," commanded 
by Captain Richard Jones, from near Natchez, and 
forty-two volunteers from the "settlers" them- 
selves, commanded by Captain Samuel Dale, who 
also had command of the expedition. A bolder or 
finer set of men, for such a service, never swung 
their shot-bags by their sides, or grasped their 
long and trusty rifles. It may be well to look par- 
ticularly at the character of three, who were des- 
tined to act the most conspicuous part in the 
events that are to follow. 



THE CANOE FIGHT. 373 

Was there ever a more Herculean figure than 
Samuel Dale, then in the noon and fullness of man- 
hood? He stood a giant among his fellows, al- 
ready distinguished by feats of prowess, daring 
and enterprise that had made his name known 
throughout the frontiers, and caused him to be 
dreaded more than any other white man by the 
Indians. They called him, in their simple tongue, 
Sam Thlucco, or Big Sam. In the year 1794 he 
joined Captain Fosh's troop stationed at Fort 
Matthews, on the Oconee, and distinguished him- 
self, in several encounters, for his courage, enter- 
prise and masterly knowledge of Indian character. 

Elected Colonel, Dale was advanced to the com- 
mand of a frontier post on the Apalachy, where he 
made himself the terror of the Red Men and the 
shield of the settlements, till McGillivray con- 
cluded peace with Washington at New York. 

Frontier tastes and aptitudes now converted 
the young soldier into an Indian trader. Desir- 
ous of becoming acquainted with the settlements 
upon the Tombigbee, Big Sam made his way 
thither about the year 1808, accompanied by a 
party of emigrants. 

A series of expeditions to and from Georgia, 
in which he acted as guide for travelers and emi- 
grating parties, with occasional protracted loiter- 
ings in Indian villages, taking part in their ath- 
letic sports and games, and surpassing their swift- 
est and most powerful champions, now engaged 
our hero for a number of years. 

In Dale's command was a private soldier, who 
already had a high reputation as an expert, daring 
and' powerful Indian fighter. Bom in Georgia, in' 



374 ALEXANDER BE A UFORT MEEK. 

1787, this scion of the universal Smith family was 
now a very stout, finely proportioned man, five 
feet eight inches high, weighing one hundred and 
sixty pounds. Residing near Fort Madison, he 
took refuge there at the outbreak of the war. His 
fearless and adventurous character may be indi- 
cated by an incident. One day he determined to 
visit his farm, about eight miles distant, to see 
what injury the Indians had done. Proceeding 
cautiously, he came to a house in which he heard 
a noise, and, stealing up to the door, he found two 
Indians, engaged in bundling up tools and other 
articles, to carry them off. Leveling his gun at 
them, he made them come out of the house and 
march before him towards the fort. In a thicket 
of woods the Indians suddenly separated, one on 
each hand, and ran. Smith fired at one of them 
and killed him, and, dropping his rifle, pursued 
the other, and, catching him, knocked him down 
with a lightwood-knot. Recovering his gun, he 
went on to the fort and announced the adventure, 
which a party, who were sent out, discovered to 
be true. 

This and similar deeds of daring and prowess 
gave James Smith a high position among his fron- 
tier friends and neighbors, as he took his place, 
rifle in hand, with buckskin garb, in the ranks of 
Captain Dale's venturous volunteers. 

That tall, slender, sinev^ youth of nineteen, 
six feet two inches high, erect and spirited in port, 
dark complexioned, eagle-eyed, is the son of a 
gallant sire, who, even since hostilities com- 
menced, had made his way back from Georgia, 
through the heart of the Creek Nation, swimming: 



THE CANOE FIGHT. 375 

the streams and stealing through the woods, to 
his family, in Fort Madison, there to assume, by- 
election, the temporary command. Such was 
''Jerry" Austill, a native of North Carolina and the 
son of a worthy sire. 

"Jerry" was now very little more than a boy 
in age, but his skill as a marksman, hi§ swiftness 
of foot, his dauntless courage and his deep knowl- 
edge of Indian schemes and cunning, acquired 
among the Cherokees, rendered him one of the 
most useful and manly of the frontier defenders. 
We have said that he was slender, but look at his 
muscular limbs, as revealed through his hunting 
shirt closely girdled around his waist, and his 
tight leather leggings, and you may appreciate 
that his frame, weighing, as it did, one hundred 
and seventy pounds, is possessed of all those pow- 
ers which are most serviceable in the hardships 
and encounters of backwoods warfare. 

These three — Dale, Smith and Austill — were 
the leading spirits in the expedition, fitted out 
under the command of Dale, for the exploration 
of the country along the Alabama River. The 
party left Fort Madison on the 11th of November^ 
1813. It proceeded southeasterly, under the guid- 
ance of Tandy Walker and George Foster, to 
a point on the river two miles below "Bailey's 
Shoals," and about eighteen miles below the 
present town of Claiborne. Here they found two 
canoes, carefully concealed in the inlet of a small 
creek, in which the entire party crossed to the east- 
ern bank, and passed the night in concealment and 
under arms, no one being allowed to sleep. They 

(25) 



376 ALEXANDER BE A UFORT MEEK. 

were at this point within thirty miles of the ruins 
of Fort Mims. 

The next morning the party ascended the 
river; Austill, with six men, in the canoes, and 
Dale, with the remainder, through the woods upon 
the eastern bank. No signs of Indians were dis- 
covered until their arrival at "Peggy Bailey's 
Bluff,'* three miles above. Pursuing these, which 
led up the river. Dale, being in advance of his men, 
soon came upon a party of ten Indians, who were 
with all imaginary security partaking of a boun- 
tiful breakfast. His unfailing rifle dismissed 
them without a benediction; the chief, a noted 
warrior, being slain, his followers, in their hur- 
ried flight, left their well-stored pack of provisions 
behind them. 

One mile higher up the stream Dale's party 
came to a field known as Randon's farm. This 
was a few miles below Claiborne and one hundred 
and five miles, by the course of the river, above 
Mobile. Here, upon consultation with Austill, it 
was concluded that the main party should re- 
cross the river to its western bank. For this pur- 
pose the canoes were put in requisition, and the 
men were cautiously and with as much swiftness 
as possible conveyed across the stream. 

The river, at this point, was about four hun- 
dred yards wide. Its banks were irregular, some- 
what precipitous, and covered with beech, pine, 
and sycamore trees, with a thick undergrowth of 
cane, vines, and luxuriant shrubbery. The east- 
ern shore, which the party were now gradually 
leaving, sloped away into two embankments, one 



THE CANOE FIGHT, Sll 

rising above the other with considerable abrupt- 
ness, and then spreading out into the field of 
which we have spoken. 

While the conveyance of the men across the 
river was progressing, Dale, with Austill, James 
Smith, G. W. Creagh and a few others, determined 
to partake of the provisions they had found in the 
Indian pack. In the old field, on the second bank, 
they kindled a fire for the purpose of cooking 
these, and were about, in the language of Dale 
himself, *'to make use of the broiled bones and hot 
ash-cake," when they were startled by the dis- 
charge of several rifles and the sudden war- 
whoops of some twenty-five or thirty Indians, who 
came rushing towards them from three sides of 
the field. Dale's party, immediately seizing their 
rifles, and being too few to oppose the force of 
the enemy, dashed down the second or upper bank 
of the river, and took post among the trees, 
whence they kept in check the approach of the 
savages. 

By this time the canoes had conveyed all but 
twelve of the entire force to the opposite side of 
the river, and one canoe alone had returned for 
the residue. This was the first thought of the 
little party, who were now hemmed by the Indians. 
But simultaneously with the attack by land, a large 
canoe, containing eleven warriors, had issued 
from a bend in the river above, and descended rap- 
idly with the evident design of intercepting com- 
munication with the opposite shore. They now at- 
tempted to approach the shore and join in the at- 
tack, but were kept at a distance by the well-di- 



378 ALEXANDER BE A UFORT MEEK. 

rected fire of a few of Dale's men. Two of their 
number, however, leaped into the river and swam, 
with their rifles above their heads, for the bank, 
just above the mouth of a little creek, near the 
northern corner of the field. One of these, as he 
approached the shore, v^as shot by Smith; but 
Austin, in attempting to intercept the other, was 
thrown by the underwood and rolled into the wa- 
ter within a few feet of his antagonist. The In- 
dian reached the shore and ran up the bank. Aus- 
tin, in pursuing him through the cane, was fired 
at, in mistake for an Indian, by Creagh, and nar- 
rowly escaped. 

During this bye-scene Dale and the other eight 
of his valiant companions were interchanging hot 
fires with the enemy. Those in the canoe shel- 
tered themselves by lying in its bottom and firing 
over the sides. The party on shore were deterred 
from pressing closely by an ignorance of the num- 
ber of Dale's forces. This cause alone saved them 
from certain destruction. But the circum- 
stances were now growing more critical. Soon 
the Indians must discover the weakness of their 
opponents, and rush forward with irresistible su- 
periority. A more perilous position can scarcely 
be imagined ; and yet there was one in this contest ! 

Dale, seeing the superiority of the enemy, 
called out to his comrades on the opposite shore 
for assistance. They had remained, thus far, in- 
efficient, but excited, spectators of the scene. But 
now eight of their number leaped into their canoe 
and bore out towards the enemy. Upon approach- 
ing near enough, however, to discover the num- 
ber of the Indians, the man in the bow, becoming 



THE CANOE FIGHT. 379 

alarmed at the superiority of the foe, ordered the 
paddles to "back water," and they returned to 
land. Dale, indignant at this cowardice, de- 
manded of his men, who would join him in an at- 
tack upon the Indian canoe. Austill and Smith 
immediately volunteered; and, with a negro as 
steersman, named Caesar, the little party em- 
barked for the dreadful encounter. As they ap- 
proached one of the Indians fired without effect. 
When, within thirty feet, Smith fired and probably 
wounded an Indian, whose shoulder was visible 
above the canoe. Dale and Austill attempted to 
fire, but their priming having been wet, their guns 
could not be discharged. Fortunately the Indians 
had exhausted their powder. The white party 
now bore down, in silence, upon the foe. As the 
boats came in contact at the bows the Indians all 
leaped to their feet. Austill was in front and bore 
for a moment the brunt of the battle. But, by 
the order of Dale, the negro swayed round the 
canoe, and ''Big Sam" leaped into the enemy's 
boat, giving more room for Smith and Austill, 
and, pressing together the Indians, who were al- 
ready too crowded. The negro occupied his time 
in holding the canoes together. The rifles of both 
parties were now used as clubs ; and dreadful were 
the blows both given and taken ; for three stouter 
or more gallant men than these assailants never 
took part in a crowded melee. The details of the 
struggle can scarcely be given. Dale's second 
blow broke the barrel of his gun, which he then 
exchanged for Smith's, and so fought till the end 
of the scene. Austill was, at one time, prostrated 
by a blow from a war-club; fell into the Indian 



380 ALEXANDER BE A UFORT MEEK. 

canoe, between two of the enemy, and was about 
being slain by his assailant when the latter was 
fortunately put to death by Smith. Austill rose, 
grappling with an Indian, wrested his war-club 
from him, struck him over the skull, and he fell 
dead in the river. The last surviving Indian had 
been, before the war, a particular friend of Dale's. 
They had hunted together long and familiarly, and 
were alike distinguished for their excellence in 
those vigorous sports, so much prized by the man 
of the woods. The young Muscogee was regarded 
as one of the most chivalrous warriors of his tribe. 
Dale would always say, when, long subsequently, 
he narrated these circumstances, and he never did 
so without weeping, that he "loved that Indian 
like a brother, and wanted to save him from the 
fate of the others." But the eye of the young war- 
rior was filled with fire; he leaped before his op- 
ponent with a proud fury ; cried out, in Muscogee : 
"Big Sam, you're a man, and I am another ! Now 
for it!" and grappled in deadly conflict. The 
white man proved the victor. With one blow of 
his rifle he crushed the skull of the Indian. The 
young brave, still holding his gun firmly in his 
hands, fell backwards into the water; and the 
canoe fight was over. 

The victors now employed themselves in clear- 
ing the canoes of the dead bodies of the Indians. 
The only weapons left, of either party, were a 
war-club and rifle. The Indians upon the shore 
had, during the progress of the fight, kept up a 
constant fire with the party on land. They now 
directed many shots at the canoes, as they ap- 
proached the shore. One ball passed between 



THE CANOE FIGHT. 381 

Smith and Austill, and another struck one of the 
canoes. But, in spite of this firing, Dale and his 
colleagues returned to the shore, took off their 
friends in safety, and passed across the river tri- 
umphantly. Notwithstanding the dangers they 
had encountered, the whole party had not lost one 
man, and the only injuries they had suffered were 
some severe bruises received by the combatants 
on the water. Austill had a severe contusion on 
the top of his head, which left a permanent dint 
in the skull. It was subsequently ascertained that 
the entire Indian force, on land and water, was 
two hundred and eignty. 

Such, in its details, was the Canoe Fight — cer- 
tainly the most remarkable of our naval engage- 
ments. Neither Porter, at Valparaiso, nor Perry, 
at Lake Erie, displayed more reckless courage, or 
more indomitable fortitude than did these back- 
woodsmen of Alabama. The difference, as far 
as personal achievement, is all in favor of the 
latter. The statements made may be relied on 
as strictly true. They are taken from accounts 
given by the actors themselves; and the events 
were witnessed by many who are still living to 
attest their truth. 

Brightly shone the eyes of the anxious occu- 
pants of Fort Madison, when, on the very evening 
of this bloody engagement. Dale and his gallant 
comrades, by a forced march of twelve miles, re- 
turned to that place. Loud were the plaudits of 
all, and aged gossip and prattling child learned to 
utter the names of the Heroes of the Canoe Fight 
with admiration and pride. 



382 HENRY TIMROD. 



CAROLINA. 

BY 

HENRY TIMROD. 

The despot treads thy sacred sands, 
Thy pines give shelter to his bands, 
Thy sons stand by with idle hands, 

Carolina ! 
He breathes at ease thy airs of balm, 
He scorns the lances of thy palm; 
Oh ! who shall break thy craven calm, 

Carolina ? 
Thy ancient fame is growing dim, 
A spot is on thy garment's rim ; 
Give to the winds thy battle hymn, 

Carolina ! 

Call on thy children of the hill. 

Wake swamp and river, coast and rill. 

Rouse all thy strength and all thy skill, 

Carolina ! 
Cite wealth and science, trade and art. 
Touch with thy fire the cautious mart. 
And pour thee through the people's heart, 

Carolina ! 
Till even the coward spurns his fears. 
And all thy fields and fens and meres 
Shall bristle like thy palm with spears, 

Carolina ! 

Hold up the glories of thy dead ; 

Say how thy elder children bled. 

And point to Eutaw's battle-bed, 

Carolina ! 



CAROLINA. 383 

Tell how the patriot's soul was tried, 
And what his dauntless breast defied ; 
How Rutledge ruled and Laurens died, 

Carolina ! 
Cry! till thy summons, heard at last, 
Shall fall like Marion's bugle-blast 
Re-echoed from the haunted Past, 

Carolina ! 

I hear a murmur as of waves 

That grope their way through sunless caves, 

Like bodies struggling in their graves, 

Carolina ! 
And now it deepens ; slow and grand 
It swells, as, rolling to the land, 
An ocean broke upon thy strand, 

Carolina ! 
Shout ! let it reach the startled Huns ! 
And roar with all thy festal guns ! 
It is the answer of thy sons, 

Carolina! 

They will not wait to hear thee call ; 
From Sachem's Head to Sumter's wall 
Resounds the voice of hut and hall, 

Carolina ! 
No ! thou hast not a stain, they say, 
Or none save what the battle-day 
Shall wash in seas of blood away, 

Carolina ! 
Thy skirts indeed the foe may part. 
Thy robe be pierced with sword and dart. 
They shall not touch thy noble heart, 

Carolina ! 



384 HENRY TIMROD. 

Ere thou shalt own the tyrant's thrall 
Ten times ten thousand men must fall ; 
Thy corpse may hearken to his call, 

Carolina ! 
When, by thy bier, in mournful throngs 
The women chant thy mortal wrongs, 
'Twill be their own funereal songs, 

Carolina ! 
From thy dead breast by ruffians trod 
No helpless child shall look to God ; 
All shall be safe beneath thy sod, 

Carolina ! 

Girt with such wills to do and bear, 
Assured in right, and mailed in prayer. 
Thou wilt not bow thee to despair, 

Carolina ! 
Throw thy bold banner to the breeze ! 
Front with thy ranks the threatening seas, 
Like thine own proud armorial trees, 

Carolina ! 
Fling down thy gauntlet to the Huns, 
And roar the challenge from thy guns ; 
Then leave the future to thy sons, 

Carolina ! 



A CRY TO ARMS, 385 



A CRY TO ARMS. 

BY 

HENRY TIMROD. 

Ho ! WOODSMEN of the mountain side ! 

Ho! dwellers in the vales! 
Ho ! ye who by the chafing tide 

Have roughened in the gales ! 
Leave barn and byre, leave kin and cot, 

Lay by the bloodless spade ; 
Let desk, and case, and counter rot, 

And burn your books of trade. 

The despot roves your fairest lands ; 

And, till he flies or fears. 
Your fields must grow but armed bands. 

Your sheaves be sheaves of spears! 
Give up to mildew and to rust 

The useless tools of gain ; 
And feed your country's sacred dust 

With floods of crimson rain! 

Come, with the weapons at your call — 

With musket, pike, or knife ; 
He wields the deadliest blade of all 

Who lightest holds his life. 
The arm that drives its unbought blows 

With all a patriot's scorn. 
Might brain a tyrant with a rose, 

Or stab him with a thorn. 



386 HENRY TIMROD, , 

Does any falter? let him turn 

To some brave maiden's eyes, 
And catch the holy fires that burn 

In those sublunar skies. 
Oh ! could you like your women feel, 

And in their spirit march, 
A day might see your lines of steel 

Beneath the victor's arch. 

What hope, God ! would not grow warm 

When thoughts like these give cheer? 
The Lily calmly braves the storm, 

And shall the Palm-tree fear ? 
No ! rather let its branches court 

The rack that sweeps the plain ; 
And from the Lily's regal port 

Learn how to breast the strain ! 

Ho ! woodsmen of the mountain side ! 

Ho! dwellers in the vales! 
Ho ! ye Who by the roaring tide 

Have roughened in the gales ! 
Come ! flocking gayly to the fight. 

From forest, hill, and lake ; 
We battle for our Country's right, 

And for the Lily's sake I 

(These two poems are published frpm Memorial of Heniy 

Timrod's Poems, by permission of B. F. Johnson 

Publishing Co.) 



ROBERT YOUNG HAYNE. 

Robert Young Hayne was born in Colleton District, 
South Carolina, November 10, 1791, and died at Asheville, 
N. C, while still a comparatively young* man, September 
24, 1839. He was educated in Charleston and admitted to 
the bar there. He served in the Legislature, was Attorney- 
General of his State, United States Senator, and Governor 
of South Carolina. 

His great debate with Webster stands out as perhaps 
the most notable of the many contests in the halls of 
Congress. Hayne was the very incarnation of the spirit 
of the South, advocating free trade, strict construction of 
the Constitution, States' Rights and Nullification. As the 
drafter of the Nullification Ordinance, he was elected 
Governor to carry the ordinance out. His bold challenge 
of President Jackson's right and power to coerce a State 
brought Carolina to the verge of war, which was prevented 
only by the act of Congress in refusing to enforce the de- 
cree of the President. 

Judged by many standards, Hayne must have been the 
most effective, the most persuasive, of our orators. Says 
one writer, Mr. Holliday: "His was a fiery eloquence. He 
was a bold, powerful and rapid debater, and his speeches 
often swept along with a rush that did not always permit 
his listeners to pause for thought, but, instead, carried 
them away as willing captives. So filled with passion were 
his words that at times he seemed almost beside himself, 
and yet he never for a moment lost control of the flood of 
words." 

His Speeches have been collected and published. 



388 ROBERT YOUNG HAYNE. 



THE LOYALTY OF SOUTH CAROLINA AND 
THE SOUTH. 

FROM 

SPEECH ON THE FOOT RESOLUTION, JAN- 
UARY 25, 1830. 

Sir, the gentleman has thought proper, for 
purposes best known to himself, to strike the 
South through me, the most unworthy of her ser- 
vants. He has crossed the border, he has invaded 
the State of South Carolina, is making war upon 
her citizens, and endeavoring to overthrow her 
principles and her institutions. Sir, when the 
gentleman provokes me to such a conflict I meet 
him at the threshold. I will struggle while I have 
life, for our altars and our firesides, and if God 
gives me strength I will drive back the invader 
discomfited. Nor shall I stop there. If the gen- 
tleman provokes the war, he shall have war. Sir, 
I will not stop at the border ; I will carry the war 
into the enemy's territory, and not consent to lay 
down my arms until I shall have obtained ''indem- 
nity for the past, and security for the future.'' It 
is with unfeigned reluctance that I enter upon the 
performance of this part of my duty. I shrink 
almost instinctively from a course, however nec- 
essary, which may have a tendency to excite sec- 
tional feelings and sectional jealousies. But, sir, 
the task has been forced upon me, and I proceed 
right onward to the performance of my duty; be 
the consequences what they may, the responsibility 
is with those who have imposed upon me this ne- 
cessity. The Senator from Massachusetts has 



LOYALTY OF SOUTH CAROLINA. 389 

thought proper to cast the first stone, and if he 
shall find, according to a homely adage, "that he 
lives in a glass house," on his head be the conse- 
quences. The gentleman has made a great flour- 
ish about his fidelity to Massachusetts. I shall 
make no professions of zeal for the interest and 
honor of South Carolina — of that my constituents 
shall judge. If there be one State in this Union 
(and I say it not in a boastful spirit) that may 
challenge comparison with any other for a uni- 
form, zealous, ardent, and uncalculating devotion 
to the Union, that State is South Carolina. Sir, 
from the very commencement of the Revolution, 
up to this hour, there is no sacrifice, however great, 
she has not cheerfully made; no service she has 
ever hesitated to perform. She has adhered to 
you in your prosperity, but in your adversity she 
has clung to you with more than filial affection. 

No matter what was the condition of her do- 
mestic affairs, though deprived of her resources, 
divided by parties, or surrounded by difficulties, 
the call of the country has been to her as the voice 
of God. Domestic discord ceased at the sound; 
every man became at once reconciled to his breth- 
ren, and the sons of Carolina were all seen crowd- 
ing together to the temple, bringing their gifts to 
the altar of their common country. What, sir, 
was the conduct of the South during the Revolu- 
tion? Sir, I honor New England for her con- 
duct in that glorious struggle. But great as is 
the praise which belongs to her, I think at least 
equal honor is due to the South. They espoused 
the quarrel of their brethren with a generous zeal, 
which did not suffer them to stop to calculate their 



390 ROBERT YOUNG HAYNE. 

interest in the dispute. Favorites of the mother 
country, possessed of neither ships nor seamen to 
create commercial rivalship, they might have 
found in their situation a guarantee that their 
trade would be forever fostered and protected by 
Great Britain. But, tramping on all considera- 
tions, either of interest or of safety, they rushed 
into the conflict, and, fighting for principle, per- 
iled all in the sacred cause of freedom. Never 
was there exhibited, in the history of the world, 
higher examples of noble daring, dreadful suffer- 
ing, and heroic endurance, than by the Whigs of 
Carolina during that Revolution. The whole 
State, from the mountains to the sea, was over- 
run by an overwhelming force of the enemy. The 
fruits of industry perished on the spot where they 
were produced, or were consumed by the foe. The 
"plains of Carolina" drank up the most precious 
blood of her citizens! Black and smoking ruins 
marked the places which had been the habitation 
of her children! Driven from their homes, into 
the gloomy and almost impenetrable swamps, even 
there tlie spirit of liberty survived, and South Car- 
olina (sustained by the example of her Sumters 
and her Marions) proved by her conduct that, 
though her soil might be overrun, the spirit of her 
people was invincible. 

But, sir, our country was soon called upon to 
engage in another revolutionary struggle, and 
that, too, was a struggle for principle — I mean the 
political revolution which dates back to '98, and 
which, if it had not been successfully achieved, 
would have left us none of the fruits of the Revo- 
lution of 76. The revolution of '98 restored the 



LOYALTY OF SOUTH CAROLINA. 391 

constitution, rescued the liberty of the citizen 
from the grasp of those who were aiming at its 
life, and, in the emphatic language of Mr. Jeffer- 
son, ''saved the constitution at its last gasp." 
And by whom was it achieved? By the South, 
sir, aided only by the democracy of the North and 
West. 

I come now to the war of 1812 — a war which 
I well remember was called in derision (while its 
event was doubtful) the Southern war, and some- 
times the Carolina war ; but which is now univer- 
sally acknowledged to have done more for the 
honor and prosperity of the country than all other 
events in our history put together. What, sir, 
were the objects of that war? "Free trade and 
sailors' rights!" It was for the protection of 
Northern shipping and New England seamen that 
the country flew to arms. What interest had the 
South in that contest ? If they had sat down cold- 
ly to calculate the value of their interests Involved 
in it, they would have found that they had every- 
thing to lose and nothing to gain. But, sir, with 
that generous devotion to country so character- 
istic of the South, they only asked if the rights 
of any portion of their fellow-citizens had been 
invaded; and when told that Northern ships and 
New England seamen had been arrested on the 
common highway of nations, they felt that the 
honor of their country was assailed; and, acting 
on that exalted sentiment, ''which feels a stain 
like a wound," they resolved to seek, in open war, 
for a redress of those injuries which it did not 
become freemen to endure. Sir, the whole South, 
animated as by a common impulse, cordially united 

(26) 



392 ROBERT YOUNG HAYNE, 

in declaring and promoting that war. South Car- 
olina sent to your councils, as the advocates and 
supporters of that war, the noblest of her sons. 
How they fulfilled that trust, let a grateful coun- 
try tell. Not a measure was adopted, not a battle 
fought, not a victory won, which contributed in 
any degree to the success of that war to which 
Southern councils and Southern valor did not 
largely contribute. Sir, since South Carolina is 
assailed, I must be suffered to speak to her praise, 
that, at the very moment when, in one quarter, we 
heard it solemnly proclaimed, ''that it did not be- 
come a religious and moral people to rejoice at the 
victories of our army or our navy,'' her Legisla- 
ture unanimously 

"Resolved, That we will cordially support the 
Government in the vigorous prosecution of the 
war, until a peace can be obtained on honorable 
terms ; and we will cheerfully submit to every 
privation that may be required of us, by our Gov- 
ernment, for the accomplishment of this object." 

South Carolina redeemed that pledge. She 
threw open her treasury to the Government. She 
put at the absolute disposal of the oflnicers of the 
United States all that she possessed — her men, 
her money, and her arms. She appropriated half 
a million of dollars, on her own account, in defence 
of her maritime frontier; ordered a brigade of 
State troops to be raised ; and, when left to protect 
herself by her own means, never suffered the 
enemy to touch her soil, without being instantly 
driven off or captured. Such, sir, was the con- 
duct of the South — such the conduct of my own 
State in that dark hour ''which tried men's souls." 



NORMAN McFARLANE WALKER. 

Norman Walker was born in New Orleans in 1853, 
He was graduated from the Washington and Lee Univer- 
sity, and received his degree of Bachelor of Law from the 
University of Louisiana. He practiced law for a very 
short time and then turned to journalism. F'or three years 
he was connected with the Picayune, of New Orleans, and 
in 1877 attached himself to the staff of the Democrat. This 
paper in 1881 changed its name to Times-Democrat, and 
in 1915 to Times-Picayune. During all of these changes 
Mr. Walker remained with the journal and has, since 1890, 
been its associate editor. 

His polished style displays in every paragraph the 
strong influence of a classical education, and his native 
talent as a statistician prevents the overfloridness that 
too much learning in Latin and Greek often led our fathers 
into being guilty of. 

He is the author of a Historical Guide Book of New 
Orleans; the History of Banking in New Orleans; the 
History of Municipal Government of New Orleans, and a 
Report on the Commerce of New Orleans. 



THE GEOGRAPHICAL NOMENCLATURE OF 

LOUISIANA. 

The French were much better at naming a 
country than at colonizing it, and Louisiana, in 
consequence, is richer in poetic and historic names 
than any other State in the Union. 

A study of its geographical nomenclature will 
prove both interesting and profitable to the his- 
torian. On the map of Louisiana one can read to- 



394 NORMAN McFARLANE WALKER. 

day the stories of the Indian, French, Spanish and 
American dominions, and follow with absolute cer- 
tainty every step and movement of the early ex- 
plorers. 

What more graphic account, for instance, is 
wanted of the expeditions made by the two broth- 
ers, Iberville and Bienville, into this New France, 
in 1699, and which induced the French to occupy 
and colonize the Mississippi Valley, than that told 
in the names of capes, bays and bayous baptized 
by them? The first resting place of this adven- 
turous French party was on a large stream empty- 
ing into Mississippi Sound. While landed there, 
one of their dogs, swimming in the river, was de- 
voured by a crocodile, ''wherefore we called it 
'Dog River,' " the chronicler of the expedition 
writes. The wind carried them thence westward 
to a desolate sandy island, where they stopped and 
pitched their tents for a good night's rest ashore. 
When they awoke in the morning a favorable wind 
was blowing, and, in their anxiety to profit by it, 
they hurried to their boat, forgetting in their haste 
a bag of peas they had brought with them. It was 
only when dinner came around that they remem- 
bered this, and it was then too late to return to the 
island, which became Pea Island, and is such to 
this day, although it has probably not seen a pea 
since 1699. 

"At the next stopping place," says the his- 
toriographer of this expedition, "we killed a num- 
ber of cats, and so called the island Cat Island." 
The name is a misnomer, like "the battle of 
Bunker's Hill," the animals killed being not cats, 
but raccoons, with which the island abounds. 



• NOMENCLATURE OF LO UISIANA. 395 

As Bienville passed up the Mississippi he en- 
countered a passage or portage through which he 
found it necessary to drag his boats. Across a 
narrow isthmus, "only a musket shot wide/' as 
they measured it in those primitive days, the river 
had already begun to trickle slowly. Bienville re- 
moved the raft of logs and snags that obstructed 
it, and the water rushed through tumultuously, 
cutting off the point and giving birth to the name 
Pointe Coupee, ''Cut-off Point," borne to this day 
by a Louisiana parish and town, in memory of an 
incident that occurred nearly two centuries ago. 
Thus the whole itinerary of this expedition, its 
every incident, is pictured vividly in the names of 
capes and islands, of rivers and bayous. 

Take a map of Louisiana, and if you have a 
key to it, if you understand the meaning of its 
Indian, French and Spanish names, you will be in 
possession of much of its history, for very few 
events have occurred within its limits that have 
not left their imprint upon its geography. 

One will be struck at first, perhaps, with the 
slight impression that the Spanish rule seems to 
have made on Louisiana. In St. Bernard Par- 
ish on Bayou Terre-aux-Boeufs, close to New 
Orleans, some sonorous old Spanish names and 
bright young Spanish faces still linger, relics 
of that colony of Canary Islanders established 
there by Governor Galvez in 1779, but they 
are the only representatives of Spain left. New 
Iberia is the only Spanish name in Southern 
Louisiana, except Cocodrie, a negroism of the 
Spanish cocodrillo or crocodile, an alias for an 



396 NORMAN McFARLANE WALKER. 

alligator, which is as different from a crocodile as 
a frog from a turtle. 

But in the northwestern portion of the State, 
in the parishes of Sabine, De Soto and Natchi- 
toches, a number of Castilian names still linger; 
Bayous Toro, "bull ;" Negrito, ''black" — ^they spell 
it "Negreet'* nowadays, — San Patrice, San Miguel, 
San Jose and others telling an episode in Ameri- 
can history which came very near plunging this 
country into war, but of which our histories give 
no particulars. When Louisiana was transferred 
from Spain to France and from France to the; 
United States, all in the space of a few months, 
great uncertainty existed as to its western bound- 
ary. A large army was sent from San Antonio 
and Santa Fe to the border; and Don Felix 
Marrero, bishop of Nueva Leon, came to Natchi- 
toches to preach and baptize, and made such a 
strong appeal to the prejudices of the inhabitants, 
all of them Creoles, that they threatened to secede 
from the Union. Governor Claiborne ordered an 
army of 400 men against the Spaniards. The two 
armies watched each other, only a few hundred 
paces apart, and a straw might easily have pre- 
cipitated a war. The Spaniards held possession 
of this portion of the United States for several 
years afterward, in defiance of all treaties. Where 
the Spanish army encamped in 1803 stands the 
village of Spanishtown to-day. Near by is Spanish 
Lake — it is still marked as a lake on the map, but 
its waters have long since dried up, and it is now 
a collection of prosperous farms — and all around, 
the country is filled with the sonorous, musical 
names of Castile and Andalusia. 



NOMENCLATURE OF LOUISIANA, 397 

The traces of the German colony established 
on the Mississippi by John Law, and Crozat, the 
original founder of Louisiana, are also rapidly dis- 
appearing. A large number of Germans, mainly 
Alsacians, were brought over under a contract, 
and located on the Mississippi River, some forty 
miles above New Orleans. Years ago, the district 
in which these people live was known as **the Ger- 
man coast," including the Parishes of St. John 
the Baptist and St. James, but that title vanished 
more than half a century ago. That most beauti- 
ful stream in Louisiana, the famous Teche, a cor- 
ruption of Tersch or Deutsch, German, and sev- 
eral lakes and bayous in this country, Lac des 
Allemands, German Lake, and German Bayou, 
alone recall this Teutonic settlement; all else has 
been swallowed up in Creole French. 

There is scarcely an incident in Louisiana his- 
tory, dating from even long before the advent of 
the first white man, but has left its imprint upon 
the geography of the State. The name Attakapas, 
"cannibals,'' a somewhat vague term applied to 
all Southern Louisiana, calls attention to the fact 
that the Indian occupants of this region were can- 
nibals at one time. 

The name borne by the capital of Louisiana 
and by two or its parishes, Baton Rouge, or Red 
Stick, is also a relic of the Indian days, being sim- 
ply a translation of the aboriginal ''Istrouma." 
The location of the town is on the old boundary 
line between the two hostile tribes of the Baya- 
goula and Houma Indians, which was marked, 
some say by an immense red cedar, others by a 
large stick or picket painted red. Indian names. 



398 NORMAN McFARLANE WALKER, 

however, are far less frequent in southern than in 
northern Louisiana, particularly the northwestern 
comer of the State, which was retained by the 
government as a reservation for the Caddo, Cou- 
shatta, and other Indian tribes, for many years. 

Very few persons would be aware that rapids 
ever existed in Red River, a short distance from 
Alexandria, but for the name of the parish in 
which that town is situated — Rapides. Scarcely 
a ripple marks their place to-day ; they have been 
gone nearly a century. 

Even the prehistoric birds and beasts are rec- 
ollected in this Louisiana nomenclature. Prairie 
Mamou, Mammoth Prairie, in St. Landry, recalls 
the antediluvian days when mastodons, mam- 
moths and other prehistoric animals wandered 
through the lower delta of the Mississippi. The 
memory of man fails to recall the days when buf- 
faloes existed in Louisiana, but that they were 
once numerous there is proved by the Ouachita, or 
Big Buffalo River. Of birds we have Calcasieu 
Parish, "eagle." 

Far out in the wild pine forests of Catahoula 
is a large settlement known as Funny Louis, 
named, one would suppose, after some humorous 
old backwoodsman. Nothing of the sort. It is 
pure Choctaw, slightly modified from Funna 
Louach, "burnt squirrel." A short distance off is 
Bushley's Bayou. It is not named after any de- 
ceased Mr. Bushley, and nobody by that name has 
ever been in that vicinity. It is simply Birchile 
Biayou, a Choctaw word for "cut-off." 

Knight, in his history of London, tells a story 
of one of the most famous inns of that city, known 



NOMENCLATURE OF LOUISIANA. 399 

as the Bag-o'-Nails Inn, whose name was a puzzle 
to every one until an antiquary had one of the old 
signs washed and cleaned, when it betrayed the 
fact that Biag-o'-Nails was simply a corruption of 
Bacchanals. Equally ludicrous misnomers exist 
by the hundred in Louisiana. The first French 
Governor of the Colony is the victim of one of 
them. One of the passes at the mouth of the Mis- 
sissippi was named in his honor, Passe de Sau- 
volle. The Creoles wore it down in time to Passe 
de Cheval, ''horse pass," and many of the latter 
maps have actually so translated it. Other mis- 
takes like that of Horse Pass are the change of 
the Ouiski River in Calcasieu to ''Whisky," Bogue 
Chitto, or "Big Bayou," into Boggy Chitto, and 
Biarbonne in Lafayette to Barebones. Carencro, 
in the same parish, is pronounced Carrion-Crow 
by everybody, and so spelt by many. At the 
mouth of the river is a barren, desolate mud-lump 
or island called Garden Island. No garden has 
ever been there or ever will be ; the true name is 
Gordon's Island, after an ancient bar pilot. 

Such are a few of the mistakes that have 
crowded themselves into Louisiana geography to 
confuse the student. Nicknames are even more 
numerous, and there are not a few towns which, 
like the great Grecian philosopher, Plato, have 
lost their original titles in these nicknames. This 
is so of both the towns on the right bank of the 
Mississippi opposite New Orleans — Gretna and 
Algiers. The first, which is the seat of justice of 
Jefferson Parish, is now a prosperous manufac- 
turing town, being the largest producer of cotton- 
seed oil and moss in the world. Half a century 



400 NORMAN McFARLANE WALKER, 

ago a single house stood here, where lived a good- 
natured old Creole justice of the peace, so hap- 
pily married and such an enthusiast on the sub- 
ject of matrimony that he would get up out of 
bed at any hour of the night to marry a couple of 
young lovers from the city; thus emulating the 
celebrated blacksmith of Gretna Green, and giv- 
ing a nickname to the incipient town. Algiers is 
now a portion of New Orleans, constituting the 
Fifteenth Ward of that city, but nobody knows it 
by any other name than Algiers. It has its own 
postoffice, its own fire department, and is sepa- 
rated from the "Crescent City" in everything but 
its municipal government. It is the seat of the 
dock yards and boat-building establishments, and 
has been so for years. Many years ago a leading 
boat builder of New Orleans paid a visit to his 
works across the river. The men were somewhat 
turbulent and unruly, treated their employer 
roughly, and finally locked him up in his own 
wtarehouse, refusing to release him until he agreed 
to stand treat for all. He surrendered under pro- 
test, denounced his jailers violently, and de- 
clared — it was at the time that Decatur was dis- 
tinguishing himself hefore the "City of the Deys'' 
—that they were no better than Algerines. "This 
place deserves to be called Algiers," he declared, 
"for you are all nothing (but a lot of pirates." 
The nickname stuck, and Algiers it is to this day. 
Very similar is the story of a town in Assumption. 
A hungry and half-famished traveler reached 
there one evening and asked for something to eat. 
The people of the town were very poor, being 
mainly Cajans, as the Creoles call the descendants 



NOMENCLAT URE OF LO U I SI ANA. 401 

of the Acadians, who came to Louisiana when the 
English drove them out of Nova Scotia. In the 
whole town there was not so much as a loaf of 
baker's bread to be found, and, disgusted land hun- 
gry, the stranger rode on to Napoleonville, a few 
miles distant. *'What is the name of the town 
down the bayou?'* he asked; and when told, he 
continued: "You ought to change its name and 
call it Shortbread Town." And so it is called to 
this day, but in French, "Paincourtville" — ^they 
pronounce it Pankerville, all the people of the 
surrounding country being Creoles. 

Through all these varieties and forms nearly 
all Louisiana names have passed. As there was 
no orthographical authority, no fixed form of 
spelling, no literature, books or papers, but every- 
body spelled just as he chose, it is not wonderful 
that there should be such changes and transfor- 
mations that the original spelling has been almost 
completely lost, although the original pronuncia- 
tion has been very nearly preserved. 

(By permission of Norman McF. Walker.) 



JULIA K. BAKER. 

Julia Keim Wetherill was born in Woodville, Miss., 
July 18, 1858. She was educated in Philadelphia, married 
Marion A. Baker, and made her home in New Orleans. 
Her wide, discriminating, and thoughtful reading fitted 
her for the work of literary criticism and editorial writing 
in which she was for many years engaged. Her contribu- 
tions were made chiefly to the Times-Democrat, 

There is in her verse a refinement of thought and grace- 
fulness of poetic form that is truly delightful to the reader. 



THE LITTLE LIGHT. 

If that my light, when wind and wave are wild. 

Hath lured no staggering ship against the reef. 
Or toward the jagged, foam-dashed rocks be- 
guiled, — 
A pharos false whose gleam brings wreck and 
grief ; — 

If that no wandering feet it led astray, 

Like a vain marsh-light toward the treacherous 
bog,— 
A flickering flame, a bright delusive ray. 

Soon lost and quenched amid the night and 
fog;— 

If that its slender beam stole through the dark. 
And lighted back again to home and peace 

One struggling soul, then let the little spark 
Return that way it came, and gladly cease. 



BARTERING WITH TIME. 403 

BARTERING WITH TIME. 

"Give me the gold from off thy hair, 

The rose upon thy cheek that lies, — 
Thy warbling voice that everywhere 
Makes gladness in the trembling air, — 
The young joy of thine eyes." 

''What wilt thou give to me, — oh, say. 

Thou grey old man with restless wings! — 
For love's entrancing morn of May, 
For bloom and freshness of the day, 
And youth that leaps and sings?" 

"Lo! I will make thy footstep slow 

Across the flowers that bend and wave, 

And for thy gold will give thee snow, 

And silence for thy laughter low, 
And for thy rest a grave." 

(By permission of Mrs. Julia K. Wetherill Baker.) 



MARTHA MILLER GILL. 

Martha Jane Miller was born in Pontotoc County, 
Mississippi, September 10, 1839. She was educated at the 
Chickasaw Female College. She enjoyed the benefits of 
her father's large library, and the direction of her reading 
and study was for several years the chief diversion of that 
scholarly man. 

In 1864 she married Thomas Maynard Gill, then a Cap- 
tain in the Confederate Army, and in 1865 moved with him 
to New Orleans. She followed with her husband the course 
of studies that admitted him to the bar. 

She was, for years, a correspondent for Louisville and 
New York papers. Her articles are written in forceful, 
clear, concise style, and with the confident unhesitancy of 
one who has a firm grasp upon her subject. 



AN EXTRACT FROM AN ESSAY ON THE 

RELATION OF EDUCATION TO CRIME 

IN THE STATE OF LOUISIANA. 

A PRIZE ESSAY. 

It has been a frequently admitted axiom that 
on the right education of youth depends the peace 
of families, the progress of humanity, and the 
prosperity of states. To so educate is a work 
that has to be begun almost as soon as we open 
our eyes upon earth. The first seven years of 
a child's life is almost entirely in the keeping 
of parents, and some philosophers have asserted 
that there is no new formation in the moral 
man after the seventh year. How zealously, 
then, should the educators of this period dis- 
charge this duty, since the basis of life's work is 



RELATION EDUCATION TO CRIME. 405 

here laid and the character of man as a citizen 
determined and molded. By moral education we 
mean cultivating conscience, or as Butler es- 
presses it, ''increasing its might to the level of its 
right.*' In this moral education restraint is put 
upon anger, one of the most fearful sources of 
crime; we are taught to think less of harm done 
to self, and more of harm done to others ; it also 
cultivates a disposition of kindness and mercy to 
animals, and to defenseless human beings; in a 
word, it shuts up a fountain of malevolence and 
crime; and just as education succeeds in doing 
this, so does it diminish a tendency to crime in 
the state. 

That education, viewed under this branch, 
does affect the status of crime, in our own state, 
we have only to look at the class of criminals; 
they do not come from families where discipline 
is constantly fitting them for good men and 
women, nor from that class of the community 
who meekly listen to intellectual teachers whose 
constant aim is to elevate man's standard of 
right. 

How important, then, that the youth of the 
state should be educated, so as to capacitate them, 
when they assume the responsibilities of parents, 
to begin aright this earlier education. 

In a recent statistics of crime in England it 
was found that out of several hundred criminals 
there in prison only fifteen were noted whose in- 
tellects had been cultivated, whose moral natures 
had been trained to works of kindness and 
mercy, and in whom fixed haibits had been formed 
by education. 



406 MARTHA MILLER GILL. 

In the forty-fifth annual report of the in- 
spector of the state penitentiary for the Eastern 
District of Pennsylvania we find the statistical ta- 
ble, covering nearly half a century. The report 
covers a total of 7,828 persons convicted of 
crime. Of this number only forty-three were 
well educated. Facts such as these must settle 
the disputes as to whether education, or a course 
of training, is beneficent or not in its results to 
any state. 

The physical powers must also undergo a 
course of training. This branch of education is 
quite an important factor in developing the good 
citizen, since some of the strongest pleasures and 
pains of life grow out of our organic life — diges- 
tion, circulation, respiration and nervous ener- 
gy — in repair, they give pleasure; out of repair, 
pain. A perfectly healthy man is always better na- 
tured, better fitted for an enterprising, indus- 
trious citizen, and more capacitated in every way 
to adorn his state, rather than tarnish its fame 
by deeds of crime. 

The intellect is to be disciplined by teachers, 
the real educators of the race — the nobility of 
whose vocation none can gainsay, and to whom 
the people of our great commonwealth can never 
suflficiently show their gratitude. 

The life's work of the teacher is to exalt man 
above the brute creation, to despoil him of all his 
savage propensities, and make him, as he should 
ever be, the superior of all created objects, even 
assimilating him to the image of his maker — 
God. 

(By permission of Mrs. T. M. Qill.) 



AS YOU WENT DOWN THE ROAD. 407 



AS YOU WENT DOWN THE ROAD. 

FROM 

JOY AND OTHER POEMS. 

BY 

DANSKE DANDRIDGE. 

As you went down the road, dear, 

As you went down the road, 
How chill the breeze began to blow — 

My heart took up its load; 
The skies that had been blue and bright, 
How fast they darkened into night. 

And will you ne'er turn back, dear? 

And shall we never meet? 
Do no glad cries come up the road? 

No swift returning feet? 
Halfway to meet you I would run, 
Though long the way and set the sun. 

Alas! the days go on, dear: 

How^ dulled the daylight seems. 

Since you went down the road, dear. 
And left me to my dreams — 

Left me to bear my weary load. 

As I toil after, down the road. 



(27) 



408 DANSKE DANDRIDGE, 



SILENCE. 
Come down from thine aerial height, 
Spirit of the summer night! 
Come softly stepping from the slender Moon, 

Where thou dost lie upon her gentle breast, 
And bring a boon 

Of silence and of solace for our rest. 

Or lift us, lift our souls to that bright place 
Where she doth hide her face; 

Lap us in light and cooling fleece, and steep 
Our hearts in stillness ; drench in drowsy dreams ; 
Grant us the pleasant languor that beseems, 

And rock our sleep. 

Quell thy barbed lightning in the sombre west; 

Quiet thy thunder-dogs that bay the Moon; 
Soothe the day's fretting, like a tender nurse; 

Breathe on our spirits till they be in tune : 
Were it not best 

To hush all noises in the universe, 
And bless with solemn quietude, that thus 
The still, small voice of God might speak to us ? 

(By permission of G. P. Putnam's Sons.) 



JOHN CALDWELL CALHOUN. 

Calhoun was the greatest philosophic statesman that 
this country has produced. He was born in Abbeville Dis- 
trict, South Carolina, March 18, 1782, and died in Wash- 
ington, March 31, 1850. He was prepared for college by 
Dr. Waddell and was graduated from Yale. He was Sec- 
retary of War for eight years, was Secretary of State, was 
twice Vice President, and for many years was a leader in 
the Senate. Though an ardent lover of the Union, he was 
the great champion of the States' Rights Doctrine. Trent 
says of him : "As a man he was above reproach ; as a states- 
man, full of courage and resources ; as an orator, dignified, 
impressive, and not lacking in deep passion; as a writer, 
clear and cogent; as a political theorist, weighty and 
acute." 

His greatest single work is either A Disquisition on 
Government or A Discourse on the Constitution and Gov- 
ernment of the United States. 

His writings have been collected in six substantial 
volumes. 



SPEECH ON THE INTERNAL IMPROVE- 
MENT BILL, 1817. 

On this subject of national power, what can be 
more important than a perfect unity in every 
part, in feelings and in sentiments? And what 
can tend more powerfully to produce it than 
overcoming the effects of distance? No state 
enjoying freedom ever occupied anything like as 
great an extent of country as this republic. One 
hundred years ago the most profound philoso- 



410 JOHN C, CALHOUN, 

phers did not believe it to be even possible. They 
did not suppose it possible that a pure republic 
could exist on as great a scale even as the island 
of Great Britain. What then was considered 
chimerical we now have the felicity to enjoy; 
and, what is more remarkable, such is the happy 
mould of our government, so wisely are the state 
and general powers arranged, that much of our 
political happiness derives its origin from the 
extent of our republic. It has exempted us from 
most of the causes which distracted the small re- 
publics of antiquity. Let it not, however, be for- 
gotten, let it be forever kept in mind, that it ex- 
poses us to the greatest of all calamities — next to 
the loss of liberty, and even to that in its conse- 
quences — disunion. We are great and rapidly, 
and, I was about to say, fearfully growing. This 
is our pride and our danger, our weakness and 
our strength. Little does he deserve to be in- 
trusted with the liberties of this people who does 
not raise his mind to these truths. We are un- 
der the most imperious obligation to counteract 
every tendency to disunion. The strongest of all 
cements is, undoubtedly, the wisdom, justice, 
and, above all, the moderation of this House ; yet 
the great subject on which we are now deliber- 
ating, in this respect, deserves the most serious 
consideration. Whatever impedes the inter- 
course of the extremes with this, the centre of the 
republic, weakens the union. The more enlarged 
the sphere of commercial circulation, the more 
extended that of social intercourse, the more 
strongly are we bound together, the more in- 
separable are our destinies. Those who under- 



INTERNAL IMPROVEMENT BILL. 411 

stand the human heart best know how power- 
fully distance tends to break the sympathies of 
our nature. Nothing — not even dissimilarity of 
language — ^tends more to estrange man from 
man. Let us, then, bind the republic together 
with a perfect system of roads and canals. Let 
us conquer space. It is thus the most distant 
parts of the republic will be brought within a 
few days' travel of the centre; it is thus that a 
citizen of the West will read the news of Boston 
still moist from the press. The mail and the press 
are the nerves of the body politic. By them the 
slightest impression made in the most remote 
parts is communicated to the whole system; and 
the more perfect the means of transportation, 
the more rapid and true the vibration. To aid 
us in this great work, to maintain the integrity 
of this republic, we inhabit a country presenting 
the most admirable advantages. Belted around, 
as it is, by lakes and oceans, intersected in every 
direction by bays and rivers, the hand of indus- 
try and art is tempted to improvement. So situ- 
ated, blessed with a form of government at once 
combining liberty and strength, we may reason- 
ably raise our eyes to a most splendid future if 
we only act in a manner worthy of our advan- 
tages. If, however, neglecting them, we permit 
a low, sordid, selfish and sectional spirit to take 
possession of this House, this happy scene will 
vanish. We will divide, and in its consequence 
will follow misery and despotism. 



412 ALEXANDER BE A UFORT MEEK, 



LAND OF THE SOUTH. 

BY 

ALEXANDER BEAUFORT MEEK. 

Land of the South ! — imperial land ! — 
How proud thy mountains rise ! — 

How sweet thy scenes on every hand ! 
How fair thy covering skies ! 

But not for this — oh, not for these, 

I love thy fields to roam, — 
Thou hast a dearer spell to me, — 

Thou art my native home ! 

Thy rivers roll their liquid wealth, 

Unequaled to the sea ; 
Thy hills and valleys bloom with health. 

And green with verdure be ! 
But not for thy proud ocean streams, 

Not for thy azure dome, — 
iSweet, sunny South ! I cling to thee, — 

Thou art my native home! 

I've stood beneath Italians clime. 

Beloved of tale and song, — 
On Helvyn's hills, proud and sublime, 

Where nature's wonders throng; 
By Tempers classic sunlit streams. 

Where Gods of old did roam, — 
But ne'er have found so fair a land 

As thou, — ^^my native home ! 



LAND OF THE SOUTH, 413 

And thou hast prouder glories, too, 

Than nature ever gave, — 
Peace sheds o'er thee her genial dew. 

And Freedom's pinions wave, — 
Fair science flings her pearls around, 

Religion lifts her dome, — 
These, these endear thee to my heart, — 

My own, loved native home ! 

And ''Heaven's best gift to man" is thine, 

God bless thy rosy girls ! — 
Like sylvan flowers they sweetly shine, — 

Their hearts are pure as pearls ! 
And grace and goodness circle them. 

Where'er their footsteps roam; 
How can I then, whilst loving them. 

Not love my native home ! 

Land of the South ! — imperial land ! — 

Then here's la health to thee, — 
Long as thy mountain barriers stand, 

May'st thou be blessed and free ! 
May dark dissension's banner ne'er 

Wave o'er thy fertile loam! — 
But should it come, there's one will die. 

To save his native home! 



ROBERT EDWARD LEE. 

General Lee, son of "Light-Horse Harry" Lee, was bom 
at Stratford, Westmoreland County, Virginia, January 19, 
1807, and died in Lexington, Va., October 12, 1870. He was 
a graduate of West Point, of which institution he later be- 
came Superintendent. As engineer, he improved for navi- 
gation the upper Mississippi, and strengthened the defenses 
of New York harbor and of Baltimore. He served in Texas 
against the Indians, and during the Mexican War won from 
General Scott the tribute of praise that Lee was "the great- 
est military genius in America." When the South with- 
drew from the Union he was offered the command of the 
United States Armies, but refused — ^he could not lead an 
invasion of his own land nor attack his own people. As 
Commander-in-Chief of the Confederate Armies, he proved 
the truth of Scott's estimate of his ability. After the war 
he became president of Washington College, named now, in 
his honor, Washington and Lee University. 

His military genius is recognized throughout the world, 
and the purity and nobility of his character have made 
him the idol of the people of the South. 

His authorship is confined to his Letters and Addresses, 
and the editing of the Memoirs of the Revolution by his 
father. 



GENERAL LEE^S LAST ORDER. 

(APPOMATTOX COURTHOUSE, APRIL 10, 1865.) 

After four years of arduous service, marked 
by unsurpassed courage and fortitude, the Army 
of Northern Virginia has been compelled to yield 
to overwhelming numbers and resources. I need 



LEE'S LAST ORDER. 415 

not tell the brave survivors of so many hard- 
fought battles, who have remained steadfast to 
the last, that I have consented to this result from 
no distrust of them; but, feeling that valor and 
devotion could accomplish nothing that would 
compensate for the loss that must have attended 
the continuance of the contest, I determined to 
avoid the useless sacrifice of those whose past ser- 
vices have endeared them to their countrymen. 

By the terms of the agreement, officers and 
men can return to their homes, and remain until 
exchanged. You will take with you the satisfac- 
tion that proceeds from the consciousness of duty 
faithfullj^ performed; and I earnestly pray that 
a merciful God will extend to you his blessing and 
protection. 

With an increasing admiration of your con- 
stancy and devotion to your country, and la grate- 
ful remembrance of your kind and generous con- 
siderations for myself, I bid you all an affectionate 
farewell. 

LETTER TO PRESIDENT DAVIS AFTER 
THE SURRENDER. 

NEAR APPOMATTOX COURTHOUSE, VA. 

APRIL 12, 1865. 

Mr. President — It is with pain that I an- 
nounce to Your Excellency the surrender of the 
Army of Northern Virginia. The operations 
which preceded this result will be reported in full. 
I will, therefore, only now state that, upon arriv- 
ing lat Amelia Courthouse on the morning of the 
4th with the advance of the army, on the retreat 



416 ROBERT E. LEE. 

from the lines in front of Richmond and Peters- 
burg, and not finding the supplies ordered to (be 
placed there, nearly twenty-four hours were lost 
in endeavoring to collect in the country subsist- 
ence for men and horses. This delay was fatal, 
and could not be retrieved. The troops, wearied 
by continual fighting and marching for several 
days and nights, obtained neither rest nor refresh- 
ment ; and on moving on the 5th, on the Richmond 
and Danville Railroad, I found at Jetersville the 
enemy's cavalry, and learned the approach of his 
infantry an^ the general advance of his army 
toward Burkesville. This deprived us of the use 
of the railroad, and rendered it impracticable to 
procure from Danville the supplies ordered to 
meet us at points of our march. Nothing could 
be obtained from the adjacent country. Our route 
to Roanoke was, therefore, changed, and the 
march directed upon Farmville, where supplies 
were ordered from Lynchburg. The change of 
route threw the troops over the roads pursued by 
the artillery and wagon trains west of the rail- 
road, which impeded our advance and embar- 
rassed our movements. * * * Learning the 
condition of affairs on the lines, where I had gone 
under the expectation of meeting General Grant 
to learn definitely the terms he proposed in a com- 
munication received from him on the 8th, in the 
event of the surrender of the army, I requested a 
suspension of hostilities until these terms could be 
arranged. In the interview which occurred with 
General Grant, in compliance with my request, 
terms having been agreed on, I surrendered that 
portion of the Army of Northern Virginia which 



LETTER TO PRESIDENT DAVIS. 417 

was on the field, with its arms, artillery, and 
wagon trains, the officers and men to be paroled, 
retaining their side-arms and private effects. I 
deemed this course the best under all the circum- 
stances by which we were surrounded. On the 
morning of the 9th, according to the reports of the 
ordnance officers, there were 7,892 organized in- 
fantry with arms, with an average of seventy-five 
rounds of ammunition per man. The artillery, 
though reduced to sixty-three pieces, with ninety- 
three rounds of ammunition, was sufficient. These 
comprised all the supplies of ordnance that could 
be relied on in the State of Virginia. I have no 
accurate report of the cavalry, but believe it did 
not exceed 2,100 effective men. The enemy were 
more than five times our numbers. If we could 
have forced our way one day longer it would have 
been at a great sacrifice of life, and at its end I 
did not see how a surrender could have been 
avoided. We had no subsistence for man or horse, 
and it could not be gathered in the country. The 
supplies ordered to Pamplin's Station from 
Lynchburg could not reach us, and the men, de- 
prived of food and sleep for many days, were 
worn out and exhausted. 

With great respect, your obedient servant, 

R. E. Lee, 

General. 



418 FRANCIS ORRERY TICKNOR. 

THE VIRGINIANS OF THE VALLEY. 

BY 
FRANCIS ORRERY TICKNOR. 

The Knightliest of the Knightly race, 

That since the days of old, 
Hiave kept the lamp of chivalry 

Alight in hearts of gold. 
The kindliest of the kindly (band 

That rarely hated ease ! 
That rode with Raleigh round the land, 

With Smith around the seas. 

Who climbed the blue embattled hills 

Against uncounted foes, 
And planted there, in valleys fair. 

The Lily and the Rose ! 
Whose fragrance lives in many lands. 

Whose beauty stars the earth; 
And lights the hearts of happy homes 

With loveliness and worth ! 

We thought they slept ! the men who kept 

The names of noble sires, 
And slumbered, while the darkness crept 

Around their vigil fires ! 
But aye ! the golden horse-shoe Knights 

Their Old Dominion keep. 
Whose foes have found enchanted ground 

But not a Knight asleep. 



VIRGINIA. 419 

VIRGINIA. 

BY 

FRANCIS ORRERY TICKNOR. 

Treble Triumph to thy spears, 
Daughter of the Cavaliers ! 

Virginia ! 
Let the timbrel and the dance 
Tell the terrors of thy lance, 
Tell thy great deliverance, 

Virginia ! 

On the land and on the sea, 
Thou hast triumphed gloriously, 

Virginia! 
Loftier head or haughtier foe. 
Laid in dust of battle, low, 
Never decked thy saddle-bow, 

Virginia ! 

Blazed the light of buried years 
Awful through thy blinding tears, 

Virginia ! 
Spirits of the mighty Dead, 
Summoned by thy battle-tread. 
Followed where thy falchion led, 

Virginia ! 

Hand to hand they smote again 
The Savage and the Saracen! 

Virginia ! 
Heart to heart as son and sire. 
Sword of wrath and soul of fire, 
Swept to vengeance, swift land dire, 

Virginia ! 



420 FRANCIS ORRERY TICKNOR. 

Mailed in thine immortal wrong, 
In thy matchless sorrows, strong, 

Virginia; 
Harness thee from head to heel — 
Gird thee, quarter-deck to keel, 
In massy oak and sheeted steel, 

Virginia! 

First in Freedom's fight of old — 
Foremost, now, thou heart of gold, 

Virginia ! 
Forward ! and the grace that flings 
The heart to death above a king's 
Shall follow where thy bugle sings, 

Virginia! 

(By permission of J. B. Lippincott and of The Neale 
Publishing Co.) 




mnKT^ 



O }<^' 



BENJAMIN MORGAN PALMER. 



Dr. Palmer was born in Charleston, S. C, January 25, 
1818, and died in New Orleans, May 25, 1902. He received 
his education at the University of Georgia and the Theo- 
logical Seminary at Columbia, S. C. He entered the min- 
istry of the Presbyterian church in 1841 and was assigned 
to a church in Savannah, Ga. He was soon transferred 
to Columbia, S. C, where he remained for fourteen years, 
teaching in the Theological School as well as preaching. 
In 1856 he came to New Orleans and for forty-six years 
was pastor of the First Presbyterian Church. 

He was a public-spirited citizen and a man of great 
moral courage, entering earnestly and fearlessly into every 
movement for the social and moral advancement of the 
community. He was a man of great learning and great 
ability, a profound thinker and a clear reasoner; primarily 
a logician, and yet at the same time gifted with a power 
of imagery and a sense of the beautiful that was truly 
poetic. 

He is the author of Sermons, and a Life of James 
Thornwell, 



MEMORIAL ADDRESS ON LEE 

OCTOBER 18, 1870. 

BY 

BENJAMIN MORGAN PALMER. 

I- 

It would be a somewhat singular subject of 
speculation to discover how it is that national 
character so often remarkably expresses itself in 
single individuals who are born as representa- 
tives of a class. It is wonderful, for it has been 
the remark of ages, how the great are born in 
clusters — sometimes, indeed, one star shining 
with solitary splendor in the firmament above, 'but 
generally gathered in grand constellations, filling 



422 MEMORIAL ADDRESS ON LEE, 

the sky with glory. What is that combination of 
influences, partly physical, partly intellectual, but 
somewhat more moral, which should make a par- 
ticular country productive of men great over all 
others on earth and to lall ages of time ? 

Ancient Greece, with her indented coast invit- 
ing to maritime adventures, from her earliest pe- 
riod was the mother of heroes in war, of poets in 
song, of sculptors and artists, and stands up, after 
the lapse of centuries, the educator of mankind, 
living in the grandeur of her works, and in the 
immortal productions of minds which modern civ- 
ilization with all its cultivation and refinement and 
science has never surpassed and scarcely equalled. 

And why in the three hundred years of Ameri- 
can history it should be given to the Old Dominion 
to be the grand mother, not only of States, hut of 
the men by whom States and empires lare formed, 
it might be curious were it possible for us to in- 
quire. Unquestionably, Mr. President, there is in 
this problem the element of race, for he is hlind to 
all the truths of history, to all the revelations of 
the past, who does not recognize a select race, as 
we recognize a select individual of a race, to make 
history; but, passing by all speculation of that 
sort, when Virginia unfolds the scroll of her im- 
mortal sons — not because illustrious men did not 
precede him, gathering in constellations and clus- 
ters, but because the name shines out through 
those constellations and clusters in all its peerless 
grandeur— we read the name of George Wash- 
ington. 

^nd then, Mr. President, after the interval 
of three-quarters of a century, when your jealous 



B. M. PALMER. 423 

eye has ranged down the record and traced the 
names that history will never let die, you come to 
the name, the only name in all the annals of his- 
tory that can be named in the perilous connec- 
tion, of Robert E. Lee — the second Washington^ 
Well may old Virginia be proud of her twin sons. 
Born almost a century apart, but shining like 
those binary stars which open their glory and 
shed their splendor on the darkness of the world, 
sir, it is not an artifice of rhetoric which suggests 
this parallel between two great names in Ameri- 
can history ; for the suggestion springs spontane- 
ously to every mind, and men scarcely speak of 
Lee without thinking of a mysterious connection 
that binds the two together. 

They were alike in the presage of their early 
history, the history of their boyhood. Both earn- 
est, grave, studious — ^bom alike in that peculiar 
purity which belongs only to a noble boy, and 
which makes him a brave and noble man, filling 
the page of a history spotless until closed in death ; 
alike in that commanding presence which seems 
to be the signature of heaven sometimes placed on 
a great soul when to that soul is given a fit dwell- 
ing place; alike in that noble carriage and com- 
manding dignity — exercising a mesmeric influ- 
ence, and a hidden power which could not be 
repressed, upon all who came within its charm; 
alike in the remarkable combination and sym- 
metry of their intellectual attributes, all brought 
up to the same equal level, no faculty of the mind 
overlapping any other — all so equal, so well de- 
veloped, the judgment, the reason, the memory, 
the fancy ; and, above all, alike in that soul great- 

(28) 



424 MEMORIAL ADDRESS ON LEE. 

ness, that Christian virtue, to which so beautiful 
a tribute has been rendered by my friend (Thomas 
J. Semmes), whose high privilege it was to be a 
compeer and comrade with the immortal dead, al- 
though in another department and sphere. And 
yet, Mr. President, were they, in their external 
fortune, so strangely dissimilar — the one the rep- 
resentative and the agent of a stupendous revolu- 
tion, which it pleased Heaven to bless, and give 
birth to one of the mightiest nations on the globe; 
the other the representative and agent of a similar 
revolution, upon which it pleased High Heaven 
to throw the darkness of its frown, so that, bear- 
ing upon his generous heart the weight of this 
crushed cause, he was at length overwhelmed. 
And the nation which he led in battle gathers with 
spontaneity of grief over all this land, which is 
plowed with graves and reddened with blood, and 
the tears of a widowed nation in her ibereavement 
are shed over his honored grave. 

But these crude suggestions, which fall almost 
impromptu from my lips, suggest that which I 
desire to offer ibefore this audience to-night. I 
accept Robert E. Lee as the true type of the Amer- 
ican man, and the Southern gentleman. A bril- 
liant English writer has well remarked, with a 
touch of sound philosophy, that when a nation has 
rushed upon its fate the whole force of a national 
life will sometimes shoot up in one grand charac- 
ter, like the aloe which blooms at the end of a hun- 
dred years, shooting up in one single spike of 
glory, and then expiring. And wherever philoso- 
phy, refinement and culture have gone upon the 
Iglobe it is possible to place the finger upon indi- 



B. M, PALMER. 425 

vidual men who are the exemplars of a nation's 
character, those typical forms under which others 
less noble, less expanded, have manifested them- 
selves. 

That gentle, that perfect moderation, that 
self-command which enabled him to be so self- 
possessed admist the most trying difficulties of his 
public career, a refinement almost such as that 
which marks the character of the purest woman, 
were blended in him with that massive strength, 
that mighty endurance, that consistency and 
power which gave him and the people whom he led 
such momentum under the disadvantages of the 
struggle through which he passed. 

Born from the general level of American so- 
ciety, blood of a noble ancestry flowed in his veins, 
and he was a type of the race from which he 
sprang. Such was the grandeur and urbaneness 
of his manner, the dignity and majesty of his car- 
riage, that his only peer in social life could be 
found in courts land among those educated amidst 
the refinements of courts and thrones. In that re- 
gard there was something beautiful and appropri- 
ate that he should become in the later years of his 
life the educator of the young. Sir, it is a cause 
for mourning before High Heaven to-night that 
he was not spared thirty years to educate a gen- 
eration for the time to come. 

General Lee I accept as the representative of 
his people, and of the temper with which this 
whole Southland entered into that gigantic, that 
prolonged and that disastrous struggle which has 
closed, but closed as to us, in grief. Sir, they 
wrong us who say that the South was ever impa- 



426 MEMORIAL ADDRESS ON LEE. 

tient to rupture the bonds of the American Union. 
The War of 1776, which, sir, has no more yet a 
written history than has the war of 1861 to 1865, 
tells us that it was this Southland that wrought 
the revolution of 1776. We were the heirs of all 
the glory of that immortal struggle. It wias pur- 
chased with our blood, and which we desire to 
transmit, pure and consecrated, to the sons that 
are born to our loins. The traditions of the past 
sixty years were a portion of our heritage, and it 
never was easy for any great heart and reflective 
mind even to seem to part with that heritage to 
enter upon the perilous effort of establishing a 
new nationality. We loved every inch of Ameri- 
can soil, and loved every part of that canvas [The 
speaker here pointed to the Stars and Stripes 
above him.] which, as a symbol of power and au- 
thority, floated from the spires and from the mast- 
heads of our vessels ; and it was only after the bit- 
terest anguish that this land which now lies in 
her sorrow and ruin took upon herself that great 
peril ; but it is lall emiblematized in the regret expe- 
rienced by him whose praises are upon our lips, 
and who, like the English Nelson, recognized duty 
engraved in letters of light as the only ensign he 
could follow, and who, tearing away from all the 
associations of his early life, and abandoning the 
reputation gained in the old service, made up his 
mind to embark in the new, and with that mod- 
esty and that firmness, belonging only to the truly 
great, expressed his willingness to live and die in 
any position assigned to him. 

All over this land of ours there are men like 
Lee — not as great, not as symmetrical in the de- 



B. M. PALMER, 43fl 

velopment of character, not as grand in the pro- 
portions which they have reached, ibut who, like 
him, are sleeping upon memories that are as holy 
as death — and who, amidst all reproach, appeal to 
the future, and to the tribunal of history, when 
she shall render her final verdict in reference to 
the struggle just closed, for the vindication of the 
people embarked in that struggle. We are silent, 
resigned, obedient, and thoughtful, sleeping upon 
solemn memories, Mr. President; but, as said by 
the poet-preacher in the Good Book, "I sleep, but 
my heart waketh," looking upon the future that is 
to come, and powerless in everything except to 
pray to Almighty God, who rules the destinies of 
nations, that those who have the power may at 
least have the grace given them to preserve the 
constitutional principles which we have endeav- 
ored to maintain. And, sir, were it my privilege to 
speak in the hearing of the entire nation, I would 
utter with the prof oundest emphasis this pregnant 
truth : That no people ever traversed those moral 
ideas which underlie its character, its constitution, 
its institutions and its laws that did not in the 
end perish in disaster, in shame and in dishonor. 
Whatever be the glory, the material civilization of 
which a nation may boast, it still holds true that 
the truth is immortal, and that ideals rule the 
world. 

And now I have but a single word to say, and 
that is that the grave of this noble hero is bedewed 
with the most tender and sacred tears ever shed 
upon a human tomb. Sir, the men in these gal- 
leries that once wore the gray are here to-night 
that they may bend the knee in reverence at the 



428 MEMORIAL ADDRESS ON LEE. 

Igrave of him whose voice and hand they obeyed 
amidst the storms of ibattle ; the young widow, who 
but yesterday leant upon the arm of her soldier 
husband, but now clasps wildly to her breast the 
young child that never beheld its father's face, 
comes here to shed her tears over this grave to- 
night ; and the aged matron, with the tears stream- 
ing from her eyes as she recalls the unforgotten 
dead lying on the plains of Gettysburg or the 
heights of Fredericksburg, now to-night joins in 
our dirge over him who was that son's chieftain 
and counsellor and friend. 

A whole nation has risen up, in the spontaneity 
of its grief to render the tribute of its love. Sir, 
there is a unity in the grapes when they grow to- 
gether in the clusters upon the vine, and holding 
the bunch in your hand you speak of it as one ; but 
there is another unity when you throw these 
grapes into the wine press, and the feet of those 
that bruise these grapes trample them almost pro- 
fanely beneath their feet together in the commun- 
ion of pure wine: and such is the union and 
communion of hearts that have been fused by 
tribulation and sorrow, and that meet together in 
the true feeling of an honest grief to express the 
homage of their affection, as well las to render a 
tribute of praise to him upon whose face we shall 
never look until on that immortal day we shall be- 
hold it transfigured before the throne of God. 

(From the Life and Letters of B. M, Palmer by Thomas 
Gary Johnson. By permission of The Presbyterian 

Committee of Publication.) 



NOTES 



THE CARNIVAL. 
Boeuf Gras. The fatted ox that heads the Mardi Gras 
parade in New Orleans. 

THE FATE OF THE UNCOMPROMISING. 

Field of the Cloth of Gold. In 1520 Henry VIII of Eng- 
land and Francis I of France met, to pledge their friend- 
ship, near Guisnes in France. The meeting place recei7ed 
its name from the immense sums of money that were ex- 
pended by the nobles on magnificent costumes and gorg- 
eous and costly cloths of silver and gold with which they 
made their tents. 

Metternlch. A noted Austrian diplomat in power at 
the time of the defeat of Napoleon. 

Waterloo. The battle in Belgium at which Napoleon 
was conquered. The word Waterloo is frequently used to- 
day to mean any great or complete defeat. 

THE BATTLE OF EUTAW. 

Owen Glendower's Tributary Spirits. A reference to 
Henry IV, in which play Shakespeare represents Glen- 
dower as a wizard who could not save himself from the 
fatal battle of Shrewsbury. 

Kings Mountain. The victory of the Americans that 
caused Cornwallis in 1780 to abandon the attempt to sub- 
jugate North Carolina. 

Jamaica. Rum. 

Frederick of Prussia. Frederick II, "The Great," who 
had just come through the Seven Years" War. 

LOST KITES. 

The Buddhist faith is the chief religion of Japan and 
has many followers in both India and China. More than 
one-third of the world's population practices this religion. 

Electric Spider. Electric wires. 

Weird Sisters. The three Fates, destiny. 

THE CESSIONS OF LOUISIANA. 

King of Spain. Charles IV. 

First Consul. Bonaparte. 

Territory of Orleans. In 1805 that part of the Louisiana 
purchase afterward called Louisiana was organized into 
the Territory of Orleans. 

TrI-Color. The red, white and blue of the French Re- 
public. 



430 PROSE AND POETRY. 

THE NEW SOUTH. 

Dr. Talmage. A distinguished American preacher and 
lecturer. 

Battle-Stained Cross. The bars of the Confederate bat- 
tle flag form the cross of St. Andrew. 

Feudal. Having the power, wealth and pride of the 
mediaeval Barons. 

Without Legal Status. After the war the South was 
treated as conquered territory, and each State was gov- 
erned during the Reconstruction period either as a mili- 
tary province or by the negroes and their political asso- 
ciates. 

Jewel in the Toad's Head. There was an old belief that 
in the head of the toad was a stone that worked magic, 
warded off evil and destroyed the effect of poison. Shake- 
speare's oft-repeated lines, "Sweet are the uses of ad- 
versity; which, like the toad, ugly and venomous, wears 
yet a precious jewel in his head," have perpetuated this 
superstition. 

Sherman Careless with Fire. He left behind him on his 
march from Atlanta to Savannah a track of destruction 
nearly forty miles wide. He estimated that the ruin he 
had wrought caused a. loss to the South of $100,000,000, 

Mason and Dixon's Line. The boundary line between 
Pennsylvania and Maryland determined, 1763-1767, by the 
surveyors Mason and Dixon. It came later to be consid- 
ered as the dividing line between the North and the South. 

Hang out the Latchstring, so that anyone can open the 
door and enter, a figurative way of expressing unlimited 
hospitality. 

COLONIAL PIRACY. 

Lords Proprietors. Men to whom lands in the English 
colonies were given and over which they ruled almost as 
kings. 

MARTYR PATRIOTS. 

Caius Julius Caesar subjugated the whole known world 
with its hundred million of inhabitants to the rule of 
Rome. He converted the republic into an empire, though 
he refused to bear the title of monarch. He was assassi- 
nated by a band of men who wished to preserve the re- 
public (100-44 B. C). 

Louis XV was the French king who ceded Louisiana to 
Spain in 1763. 

THE SWAMP FOX. 

Swamp Fox. Marion, a South Carolina patriot. 
Tarleton. A British Colonel called "Bloody" because 
of his barbarous cruelty. 
Shy. Retreat. 
Dry Potatoes on Our Boards. Shows the condition of 



NOTES. 431 

dire want under which these patriotic and courageous men 
were fighting. 

THE BATTLE OF SAN JACINTO. 

The Creek Indians under Wetherford revolted, de- 
stroyed Fort Mims near Mobile, but after a five months* 
war were completely crushed by Andrew Jackson at the 
battle of Horseshoe Bend, March 27, 1814. 

Stand of Colors. A single color or flag. 

THE WILDCAT. 
Open At. Begin to bark on view or scent of the game. 
The Trail Became a Drag. The dogs followed not the 
footprints of the game but the smell of the animal on the 
ground. 

THE LEGION OF HONOR. 
Right Divine. The belief that kings were chosen by 
God and were responsible to Him alone for their conduct. 
Hebrew Youth. David who killed, with a stone from 
his sling, the Philistine giant Goliath. 

Lie on the Roses of Our Life. Remain idle in comfort 
and luxury. 

A COUNTRY BOY'S FIRST TRIAL. 
The Controversy in Virginia led to a suit to release the 
people from a heavy tax laid upon them for the benefit 
of the clergy. 

REST. 
Brindled Beeches. On account of the spotted appear- 
ance of their bark . 

LAST FIGHT OF THE ALABAMA. 
Came Down by the Run. Suddenly. 

DAVIS— SPEECH ON LEAVING THE SENATE. 

Black Hawk War. Against the Fox and Sac Indians 
of Wisconsin. 

Fortress Monroe. The fort at Old Point Comfort, Va., 
controlling the entrance to Hampton Roads. Jefferson 
Davis was kept a prisoner in one of its casemates for two 
years. His room was damp and unhealthy, he was al- 
lowed no privacy, was subjected to many indignities and 
was even put in irons by his jailor, General Miles. 

State Rights. The doctrine that the States of the 
Union were sovereign, and that each could withdraw from 
that union if it felt its rights under the contract of the 
Constitution violated. 

Nullification differed from State Rights in not enforc- 
ing the objectionable law, though not leaving the Union. 

THE CANOE FIGHT. 
Herculean. Powerful. Hercules is the Latin name for 
the Greek god of strength. 

Captain David Porter At Valparaiso. His ship, the 



432 ' PROSE AND POETRY. 

frigate Essex, with thirty-two guns, was there captured by 
the British ships Phoebe, with 36 guns, and the Cherub, 
with twenty guns (the War of 1812). 

CAROLINA. 

John Rutledge. President of South Carolina during the 
Revolution. 

John Laurens. Killed in one of the skirmishes of the 
Revolution. 

The Huns. The most savage of the peoples of ancient 
times are compared by the poet to the Northern invaders 
of the South. 

Sachem's Head to Sumter's Wall. From the mountains 
of the northwest to Charleston's fortress on the east. 

LOYALTY OF THE SOUTH. 
The Gentleman. Daniel Webster. 

GEOGRAPHICAL NOMENCLATURE. 

Falstaff. A fat and merry rogue in Shakespeare's plays 
Henry IV and The Merry Wives of Windsor. He was al- 
ways getting into trouble and getting out by means of his 
wit, by lying and by assuming the names of others. 

Gretna Green. A village in Scotland, near the English 
border and famous for runaway marriages. 

City of the Deys. Algiers, the capital of Algeria. 

LAND OF THE SOUTH. 
Helvyn's Hills. The mountains of Helvetia or Switzer- 
land. 

Tempe. A beautiful valley in North Greece. 

LEE. 
West Point. On the Hudson, the military school of 
the United States. 

VIRGINIANS OF THE VALLEY. 

Kept the Lamp of Chivalry Alight. Kept men brave 
and noble. 

Golden Horse-Shoe. To each of the Virginians who 
with himself were the first to cross the Blue Ridge, Gov. 
Spotswood gave a gold horse-shoe. 

Old Dominion. Virginia. 

VIRGINIA. 
Saracen. Arab; here it means any barbarous, unchris- 
tian foe. 

MEMORIAL ADDRESS. 
Binary. Twin. 

EXPEDITION OF ST. DENIS TO MEXICO. 

Milk and honey. The rich products of the land, good 
things, luxuries. 

Bourbons. The royal family of both France and Spain. 

Montezuma. The Emperor of the Aztec Indians, from 
whom thr Spaniards, under Cortez, in 1521, took Mexico. 



NOTES. 433 



Moorish Dagger. The Moors, the descendants of the 
Arabs and the Berber tribes of North Africa, conquered 
Spain in 711 and ruled it until 1492. Their long period of 
domination strongly influenced Spanish character and life. 

Anthony Crozat from 1712 to 1717 was granted by the 
King of France a monopoly of trade in Louisiana. 

Sibyls. Lesser deities who, according to the Greeks 
and Romans, were gifted with prophesy, hence a fortune 
teller. The greatest of the Sibyls was Amalthea, who sold 
the books of prophesy to Tarquin, a king of ancient Rome. 

Great Spirit. The chief of the Indian gods. 

Bulwer, 1803-1873. One of the greatest of the English 
novelists. 

The Mississippi Company under John Law succeeded 
to Crozat's grant and aroused a spirit of speculation that 
resulted in one of the worst business panics that Europe 
ever experienced. The complete collapse of the company's 
plans earned for it the nickname of the Mississippi Bubble. 

Andalusian Steed. A horse from the Spanish province 
of Andalusia, which was famous for its strong and fleet 
horses. 

Letter Patent. An open document issued by the gov- 
ernment. 

Homeric Style. A rough but generously hospitable 
manner. 

Pulque. A liquor made from the century-plant. 

A CREVASSE. 
La Rose Blanche. The White Rose. 
Bon Soldat. Good soldier. 

Crevasse. An overflow caused by a break in the levee. 
Quarters. The section of the plantation in which the 
negroes lived. 

Pirogue. A dugout canoe, hence a small boat. 
Great House. The plantation owner's residence. 
Small People. Fairies. 

A LETTER FROM THE ALAMO. 

Thermopylae. A narrow pass between the sea and 
mountains of Central Greece, where in 480 B. C, during 
the Greco-Persian War, Leonidas and 4,000 Greeks held 
back for three days the 950,000 troops of Xerxes. Be- 
trayed on the fourth day, Leonidas sent home 3,000 of his 
men and with 700 Thespians and 300 Spartans remained 
to die rather than to retreat or surrender. Their noble 
death won for them a place among the world's greatest 
heroes. 

LAFITTE THE "PIRATE." 

Duties. A form of taxation requiring a payment of 
money to the government for goods brought into the coun- 
try. 



434 PROSE AND POETR F. 

Calaboose. The name given by the Spaniards to the 
common jail. 

Edward Livingston. A distinguished Louisiana lawyer. 

Spanish Main. Formerly, the Caribbean Sea and adja- 
cent waters to the east. 

Neutrality Act. A law forbidding our citizens taking 
part in a war between other nations. The first demand 
for American neutrality was embodied in the proclamation 
of Washington in 1793, forbidding our participation in the 
war between England and France. 

Barataria was named after the island town of which 
Don Quixote's Sancho Panza was made governor. 

DOWN THE BAYOU. 

Ursu lines. An order of Catholic Sisters that came, un- 
der the leadership of Mother Tranchepin, from France to 
Louisiana and established at New Orleans in 1727, one of 
the first girl's schools in North America. 

Spanish Fort. Fort St. John, a small brick fort built by 
the Spaniards at the junction of Bayou St. John and Lake 
Pontchartrain. 

MR. HENRY AGAINST JOHN HOOK. 
Son of Emerald Isle. An Irishman. 

TEXAS PATRIOTS PRISONERS IN MEXICO. 
Vulcan. The Latin name for the Greek god of fire. 

A STATUE DUE SIEUR DE BIENVILLE. 

Pere Marquette. A French missionary and explorer, 
1673. 

Cadillac. A French officer, founded Detroit in 1701 and 
was Governor of Louisiana, 1711-1717. 

LADY APRIL. 
Blue Daisies. The aster or Michaelmas daisy. 

HISTORIC NEW ORLEANS. 

Place d'Armes. The park, now Jackson Square, in front 
of the Cabildo. 

Rochambeau with 4,000 French troops aided Washing- 
ton in the siege of Yorktown. 

Bernado de Galvez. Spanish Governor of Louisiana, 
1777-1785. 

Vaudreuil. A French nobleman, Governor of Louisiana 
in 1743, a lover of pomp, show and luxury. 

Cabildo. The town hall of the Spanish in New Orleans. 

Father Charlevoix. A distinguished French priest who 
wrote an account of his visit to New Orleans in 1722. 

Iberville. The colonizer of Louisiana and the elder 
brother of Bienville. 

Rue. A street. 



NOTES. 435 



Vieux Carre. The old French City of New Orleans, as 
its name indicates, was laid out in the form of a square. 

WHAT ONE BOY DID TO WIN OUR COUNTRY'S 

FREEDOM. 
Fee Simple. Complete ownership. 

The Tories were the colonists who remained loyal to 
England during the Revolution, 

The Whig Party in America was originally composed of 
the Revolutionists. 

THE WILD LILY AND THE PASSION FLOWER. 

St. Tammany Parish was named after an Indian chief 
and not a Christian saint. 

Mount Tabor (Thabor), in Palestine, is the traditional 
scene of the transiiguration of Christ and the Mount of 
Olives the hill where He prayed in agony just before the 
crucifixion. 

THE MISSISSIPPI. 

Fernando de Soto was buried in the Mississippi river. 

LITTLE GIFFEN. 

Little Giffen was Isaac Giffen, the son of a Tennessee 
blacksmith. This heroic boy, the very embodiment of 
courage and loyalty, was probably killed near Atlanta. 

Lazarus. Covered with sores like Lazarus, the beggar, 
as he lay suffering before the door of Dives; Luke 16:19-31. 

Joseph E. Johnston. Hard pressed by Sherman in the 
advance on Atlanta. 

LOYAL. 

Douglas, bearing the heart of Bruce, the national hero 
of Scotland, to the tomb of Christ in Jerusalem, stopped in 
Spain to fight the Moors, and there met his heroic death. 

Arthur. Celtic hero and King of Britain who gathered 
his knights, the noblest and bravest in the world, about a 
round table. 

A SURVEYING EXPEDITION. 

Sugar Trees. Trees from the sap of which sugar is ob- 
tained, especially the sugar maple. 

VISIT OF LAFAYETTE. 

Louis XVI and Louis Phillippe. Kings of France. 

Tacitus. A Roman historian, 75-120 A. D. 

Triumphal Procession. The Roman general who con- 
quered new lands marched, on his return, through the 
streets of Rome to the Capitoline Temple. Chained to the 
victor's chariot was the defeated monarch, and behind fol- 
lowed the hosts of captives and the other spoils. 

THE STREAMLET'S WARNING. 
Elysian. In Greek mythology the Elysian Fields repre- 
sent our Heaven. 



436 PROSE AND POETRY. 



THE DESECRATED CHAPEL. 

They Rode the Ring, Sped the Spear and Broke the 
Lance. They engaged in tournaments or mock battles and 
other knightly sports. 

Misereres. Hymns of repentance. 

ADDRESS TO LAFAYETTE. 
The Treaty of Ghent, December 24, 1814, put an end to 
the War of 1812. 

THE PIT AND THE PENDULUM. 

Auto da Fe. The burning of a heretic. 

Ultima Thule. The most northern point known to the 
Romans; it is therefore used by our writers to mean the 
extremity of the world. 

ELDORADO. 
Eldorado. Golden city, a land of opportunity or wealth. 

EULALIE. 
Astarte. The Phoenician moon goddess. 

HENRY— RETURN OF THE BRITISH REFUGEES. 
David Garrick. A famous English actor; 1717-1779. 

LOUISIANA IN THE WAR OF 1812. 

La Marseillaise. The French national hymn, composed 
by Rouget de Flsle in 1792 during the French Revolution. 

Le Chant du Depart. The Revolutionary song next in 
popularity to the Marseillaise. It was written in 1794 by 
M. J. Chenier to commemorate the destruction of the Bas- 
tille. 

Trembling Prairies. Sometimes called quaking or float- 
ing prairies are formed by matted roots and weeds that 
are floating on the water but appear to be solid ground. 

The Acadians were the French settlers of Nova Scotia. 
During the French and Indian War, 1755, they were driven 
from their homes and scattered among the colonies. Many 
of them came to Louisiana and located chiefly in the south- 
western part of the State. They are now generally called 
Cajuns. Longfellow's Evangeline gives the best descrip- 
tion of their dispersal. 

Congreve Rocket. A military sky-rocket invented in 
1808 by Sir William Congreve. 

THE SIMPLON. 
Marengo. A battle in which Napoleon won North Italy 
from an Austrian army three times as large as his own 
(June 14, 1800). 

THE KNIGHTS OF THE WHITE CAMELIA. 
Carpet Baggers were unscrupulous and thieving North- 
erners who came to the South during the reconstruction 
period, and sought to grow rich by becoming political allies 
of the negroes. They usually brought with them cheap 
satchels or traveling bags made of carpet. 



A PRONOUNCING LIST OF PROPER NAMES 
FOUND IN TEXT. 



Adrien Rouquette (e dri an 

ru' ket) 
Aletsch (a' lech) 
Allouez (a lu a') 
Alsacian (al se shi an) 
Amiens (a" mi" an') 
Anahuac (a na' wac) 
Andalttsia (an" da-lti' shi-a) 
Apalachy (ap" a lach' i) 
Astarte (as-tar' t§) 
Attakapas (a tuck' a pa) 
Audubon (o diu bon) 
Azores (a zorz') 
Balize (ba-liz') 
Barataria (ba" ra tar' i a) 
Barhonne (bar bon") 
Bar r as (bar' ra) 
Basse Terre (bas" tar') 
Baton Rouge (bat' nn ruzh) 
Bayagoula (bai' a-gii la) 
Bayou dez Allemands (bai' 

u dez al' man) 
Beaufort (biu' fort) 
Beauvoir (b5 vwar') 
Be jar (be-har) 
Bernardo de Galvez (ber 

nard 5 de gal' ves) 
Bernard de Marigny (ber' 

nar de ma ri' nye") 
Bienvenue (bi-an" ve-nu') 
Bienvenue (bi-an" v§-nu') 
Bir chile (birch' il e") 
Boeiif Gras (biif gra) 
Bogue Falaya (b5g fa 

lai' a) 
Bonaparte_ (ho na-part) 
Bonfils (bon fis') 
Bordeaux (b5r" do') 
Borgne (born) 
Bourbon (btir'bon) 
Bourgoyne (bur goin') 
Bowie (bu' i) 
Brazos (bra' zos) 
Brieg (brig) 
Cabildo (ca-bil' do) 
Cadillac (cad" il-lac') 
Cajan (ke' jun) 
Calaboose (cal'-a biis') 
Calcasieu (car-ca"-shu) 
Caouis (ka u' is) 
Carencro (car en cr5") 



Carondelet (ca rpn' de let") 
Casa Calvo (ca" sa cal" vo') 
Castile (cas-til') 
Catahoula (cat" a-hii' la) 
Catawba (ca-to' ba) 
Ceard (se" ar') 
Chalmette (shal" met') 
Chant du Depart (shan du 

de" par') 
Charlevoix (shar" l§-vwa') 
Chartres (shar tr) 
Cherbourg (shar bur') 
Cherokee (cher" o ki) 
Chickasaw (chic' a-s6) 
Chitto (chit' to") 
Choctaw (choc' t5) 
Colapissa (col" a pis'-sa) 
Colbert (col" bar') 
Comanche (co-man' chi) 
Conde (con" de') 
Conecuh (co ne' cu) 
Congreve (con' griv) 
Conti (con" ti') 
Cos (kos) 

Couronne (ku" ron') 
Coushatta (ku shat'%)- 
Croix (crwa) 
Crozai (cro' zat") 
Dahlgren (dal' gren) 
Decatur (d§-ke' tur) 
De Soto (de s5' to) 
Deutsch (doytsh) 
Dona Maria (d5' nya 

ma ri' a) 
Don Caspar do Anaya (don 

gas par' do an ai a) 
Doveria (do v§' ri a) 
Emmanuel de la Moriniere 

(em" ma" nii el' d§ la m5r 

in i air) 
Eulalie (u" la li') 
Eutaw (u' to) 
Felix Marrero (fi lix ma" 

re ro) 
Flaugeac (flo' zhe ac") 
Fontainbleau (foil" ten" 

bio) 
Froissart (trwa," sar') 
Gam^bio (gam' bi 5") 
Gauther {go te) 
Gayarre (gai a re") 



438 



PROSE AND POETRY. 



Gayoso (ge 5' so) 
Guerrero (ger-re' ro) 
aomho Zhebes (gpm' bo zeb) 
Gozeman (goth man) 
Grandissimes (gran" di 

sim) 
Grande Terre (gr5nd tar) 
Hague (heg) 
Havre de Grace (hav' §r d§ 

gras) 
Houma (hu' ma) 
Houston (hu' stun) 
Huerta (war' ta) 
Iberville (i" bar" vil') 
Ildefonso (il" de fon' so) 
I sella (i sel' a) 
Italia (i ta li' a) 
Joliet (zh5" li" e) 
Juan de Salcedo (ju' an de 

sal" si d5) 
Kaltwasser (kalt w^s §r) 
Kearsarge (kir' sarj) 
Labatut (la ba tu') 
La Branche (la bransh) 
Lacombe (la com') 
Lafayette (la" fe" et') 
Lafitte (la" fif) 
Lafreniere (la" fr^ ni air) 
Lamartine (la" mar" tin) 
La jSaZZe (la" sal') 
Latour (la" tur') 
Laussat (16" sat') 
Leg are (le~gri") 
L'Epinay (le" pi" ne') 
Linares (li-na' res) 
Lockyer (lok' y er) 
Malmedy (mal' me de) 
Mamou (mam' ii) 
Marquis de Lanarge (mar' 

kwis d§ Ian' arje) 
Marseillaise (mar" se" yez') 
Martinique (mar" ti-nic') 
Maurepas (mor" pa') 
Mendoza (men-d5' tha) 
Metairie (m§' te ri) 
Milhet (mil' e) 
Mirabeau Lamar (mi" ra" 

bo' la-mar') 
Miro (mi' ro) 
Morales (mo' ral" §s) 
Muscogee (mus-co' gi) 
Nantes (nants) 
Natchitoches (nak" i tosh') 



Natchez (naf chez) 
Nikanape (nic" a na' pe) 
Nouvelle-Or leans (nu' vel" 

5r" le"an') 
Nuevo Leon (nwe' vo le on') 
Oconee (o-co' ni) 
Ocracoke (o' cra-cok) 
Orrery (or' re-ry) 
Ouachita (wash' i taw) 
Ouiski (wis' ki) 
Paincourtville (pan cur- 

vil") 
Pakenham (pak' en-am) 
Pedro de Villescas (pe dro 

de vil §s cas) 
Pere Marquette (par mar" 

kef) 
Perote (pa r5' te) 
PZace d'Armes (pl^s' darm') 
Plaquemines (plac" min') 
Plauche (pl5' che) 
Poitevent (poi' te vent) 
Pontchar train (pon" shar" 

train') 
Presidio del Norte (pre si 

de del nor' te) 
Rio Bravo (ri' 6 bra' vo) 
Rochambeau (ro" shaA" bo') 
Rodriguez (ro-dri geth) 
Rousseau (ru so') 
Rue Roy ale (ru roi" al') 
Saint Denis (sain d§ ni) 
San Jacinto (s5n ja-cin' to) 
San Ramon (san ra-mon') 
Santa Anna (san' ta a' na) 
Santa Fe (san' ta fe) 
Sauvage (so-vaj') 
Sauvolle {s,b" vol") 
Sevier (se vir) 
Singapore (sin" ga-p6r') 
Sinquefield (sin' kwe-fild") 
Talledega (tal" a de' ga) 
Tallahassee (tal" a has' i) 
Thlucco (thlu' ko) 
Tchefuncta (che-func'-ta) 
Tec/ie (tesh) 
Tersch (tearsh) 
Thermopylae (th§r-mop' 

ile) 
Vaudreuil (vo" drul') 
Villere (vil' re") 
Vieux Carri (vi yer car''-§') 
Zweig (tsvaig) 



i 



